#i'll try again tmr ...

[wolfchans]

BANG CHAN x FENDI ♡ W KOREA

[lunaetis]

[ writer's block had won once again but i shall attempt to smash it with a brick tmr. i might do an inbox call after i got some ic content out for some new interactions ! hope everyone have a good day / night on your end ! ]

[daemon-in-my-head]

Who could've guessed sending a bunch of asks and replying to them could be tiring? Me, probably, but I didn't.

Imma continue tmr, I'm sorry, I'm still in a pretty not cool place regarding social shit rn lol (yk, I know how ironic this is. Esp cuz I started it. Don't worry. I'm just as pissed about it)

[tkbrokkoli]

been scrubbing these damn shoes w the white soles for eternity

[volosdarling]

I TRIED LIKE FOR 2 HOURS TO DRAW ME AND VOLO BUT THE SHAPES JUST R NOT COMING OUT RIGHT SO ERM... PRETEND THERE'S A PIC OF US KISSING HERE

[ame-to-ame]

The world is uncaring but I'd like to make myself believe it's way more forgiving than I think it is. The universe doesn't feel anything. The universe doesn't feel anything/pos. I can always try again!

It's my life. It's my life. It's the only thing I can take the helm of. God. I'm taking the wheel back. Life is too long to be living it not the way I want to live.

[queenboimler]

my first attempt at milk bread is on the second prove 🤞🏼

[chuulyssa]

──── ★ DRUGS SUCK IT UP LIKE VANILLA ICYS the recruiter x reader ────

starring the recruiter x detective!reader count 2.3k genre 18+ dark themes, yandere, stalking, kidnapping, gunplay, smut

notes I'LL KEEP EDITING THIS AND ADDING MORE SHIT WHENEVER I GET HORNY !!! make sure to keep tapping in lol notes wanted to write smth non horny but gong yoo just had to deepthroat that gun 🙂‍↔️ wrote this at 2am and i have my practicals tmr

You had no idea when you had lost track of him. One minute, you had been following his step through the bustling train station, and the next, your vision had blurred, and a sharp pain had shot at the base of your skull.

You didn’t know how long it had been since then. You opened your eyes, immediately shutting them back due to the sudden appearance of light to them. The scent of cigarette smoke filled your nostrils, and your tongue tasted blood.

You wriggled, trying to move your arms, but your hands had been tied behind your back, ankles tied to the legs of the chair you had been made to sit on. You opened your eyes once more. The room was dim with a single light bulb flickering on and off again and again.

“Detective,” a voice cooed at you from behind you.

You snapped your neck up to see his face smiling gleefully, staring down at you with a predatory glint in his eyes.

“Imagine my surprise,” he continued, moving away to stand in front of you, “when I realized the pretty lady that had been following me all this while,” he leaned against what you could make out to be a wooden table, “was you.”

His smirk was maddening. You remembered it from all those years ago. The handsome man in a suit, way too overdressed to meet you where he had. The man who had approached you when you were hopelessly drunk in a children’s park, crying about an unsolved case. He had wiped your tears back then, kissed your fears away. You still recall his words.

“Since we’re in a children’s park, how about a children’s game?”

Thank god for the polite refusal of yours, or you would’ve been in the same position as your current client. Seong Gihun. For whom you had been trailing this man for weeks now. The Recruiter.

“Hello? Earth to you, miss?” He snapped his fingers in front of your dazed face, making you jump at the sudden sound. He laughed at you. Then, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the floor, he mocked you. “I had such high hopes for you back then, sweetheart. But you said no,” he pouted, then cackled maniacally at your expression. “I got a kiss though!”

“Shut up,” you hissed.

He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing throughout the small room. Your eyes darted around to check for windows or exits, but you couldn’t find any in the pale lighting. “Aw, you want me to let you go? After you’ve been my little shadow for the past month?”

You looked away, and he only smirked, walking towards you. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked it upwards to catch your attention. “You look at me while we’re speaking. Don’t you have manners, love?”

“Don’t call me that,” you scoffed.

“Oh, you don’t want me to call you that? Is that right, love?” He jeered. When you scowled at him, he dropped his smirk. “Oh, come on now. We both know you’re not going anywhere. Come, let’s have a chat, shall we?”

He sat on the floor, his toes lifting him off the ground by themselves. The soles of his shoes clinked, tilting up so that he was mostly leaning onto you.

“It’s so flattering,” he began, “that you spent so much time trying to follow me all this time later. Am I that captivating, Miss Detective?”

“No.”

“Ah, but you are, certainly,” he nuzzled his face into your lap, making you squirm. You tried to close your thighs, but the restraints didn’t allow you to. “I’ve been dreaming of you ever since I saw you that night.”

He hummed, his knees going down to support his stance. He moved his hands to caress the front of your waist softly. “I cried because you were crying. So don’t cry over anything other than me, hm? It makes me so upset.”

He unbuttoned your pants swiftly, and you flinched. He looked up, amused at your reaction. You glared at him, refusing to speak, but the look in your face, the desire in your eyes, even the wetness he could practically smell betrayed you. He tilted his head.

“Still so stubborn,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. You jerked your head away, but the restraint made it futile.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re in my world now, detective. And in my world, we play games.”

He pulled out a revolver from under his suit. The metallic click of the very much real weapon cocking made your breath hitch.

Where did he get that from?

He always managed to surprise you.

“Russian roulette,” he announced dramatically, spinning the cylinder. “You know this, yes? A game of chance. Just like life.”

“You’re fucking insane,” you spat, trying to keep your voice steady, but you could feel it quaking in fear. You were scared now.

“Maybe,” he agreed, stepping behind you and pressing the cold barrel of the gun to your temple. “But aren’t you curious, detective? I am. I’m so so curious. You make me feel it. To crave it. Don’t you see it?”

You closed your eyes. The pressure of the gun against your skin seemed unbearable now. It was as if the nuzzle could pierce through your brain with how he was holding it against you.

“I want to see,” he kissed the top of your head, “just how far you’re willing to go to solve this case.”

I’ll do anything, you thought.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Beg me to stop, but there’ll be consequences then. Or take the risk.”

His voice was a low purr. The gun shifted slightly, trailing down your temple to rest just below your jaw.

“Say the word, and I’ll put it all to an end. No more games. No more questions.” His other hand came up, ghosting over your chest. “But then you’ll have to give me something else in return.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to steady your breathing as he groped your breast through the fabric of your shirt. The room felt too small, the air too thin.

“What’s it going to be, darling?” he teased, the nickname twisting in your gut like a knife. His fingers found your hardened nipple through the fabric, and his lips your neck.

“I...” you started, but your voice cracked. His soft chuckle rumbled against your pulse, sending an unwanted shiver down your spine.

“No shame in fear,” he said, almost kindly. The gun tilted up, tilting your chin with it, forcing you to meet his dark, hungry gaze in the reflection of the mirror in front of you. “Little Miss Detective, found dead in a basement room. Your parents wouldn’t like to hear that now, would they?”

Your eyes widened. He knew. He knew from the start you had been tailing him. He had kept tabs on you, more than you had on him.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Please.”

“Ah, is that the best you can do?” He cooed at you, and your hands clenched into fists.

“Please let me go,” you said, almost angrily, and he threw his head back to laugh.

“That’s not how you say it, dolly.”

You took a deep breath in, feeling your pride crush and fall down around you in bits and pieces. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” He repeated in a child-like voice. “Like what?”

“Anything you like.”

His smile grew. “Will you be willing to play a game with me, then?” His hand reached under your shirt to caress your nipple, and you could feel yourself gushing at the touch.

“What game?”

“Hm, let’s see,” he murmured softly, fingers circling around your nipple. “I’ll count down from ten.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

“And for every second that passes, I’ll take one step closer to you,” he explained, his lips curling into a sly smile. “If you say the safe word, I stop. But…” He picked up the gun, rolling the cylinder lazily before he pointed it to the side and—

BANG !

You shook, trying to cower and hide yourself, but even that was difficult. The aftereffects of the shot echoed in the silence, until it faded away. It made everything seem realer, if that was even possible. He grinned at your reaction. “There will be problems.”

“What problems?”

“That’s for me to decide,” he said simply, leaning forward, the gun still in his hand. “Do you want to play, Miss Detective?”

You hesitated. There was no way out of this room, no way out of his control. And he knew it.

“Good.” He stood, assuming your answer before you even responded. But the gun was still in his hand, and you didn’t dare disobey. He stepped back to the far wall and bumped into a table on the way. Angrily, he kicked the table out of his way, muttering curses all the while. Then his expression softened as he turned to you. “The rules are clear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

He began.

“Ten.” The sound of his boots against the floor echoed around.

“Nine.” Another step. His eyes locked onto yours like a predator stalking its prey.

“Eight.” Your hands gripped the edge of the chair.

“Seven.” The gun in his hand wasn’t aimed at you yet, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.

“Six.” He was close enough now that you could see the faint smirk playing on his lips.

“Five.” “Wait,” you blurted out.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head. “Wait? That’s not the safe word.” He took another step, closer still. You clenched your jaw, now starting to panic.

He never even gave you a safe word in the first place!

“Four.” He was looming over you now, the barrel of the gun tracing along the edge of the table.

“Three.” “Stop,” you said loudly.

“Two.” The gun was under your chin now, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“One.” He smiled, satisfied, as he crouched down to your level, his face mere inches from yours. “You didn’t use the safe word,” he murmured, the gun tracing along your jawline.

“You didn’t give me one!”

“Details,” he rolled his eyes. “But now, as per the rules, of course…” He kneeled down in front of you again, head tilting down. His hands went up to grip both sides of your waist.

“Wait—”

“Shut up.”

For a moment or two, you didn’t feel anything. That was until his tongue licked a striped against your clothed cunt.

“Ack!” You jumped, trying to push him off you, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Like that?” He nuzzled his face into the wetness, making you shiver. “I haven’t even started yet, baby,” he mumbled. Then, he sank his teeth into your clothed thigh.

You let out a loud cry, hoping that someone — anyone — would hear you. But no one did. No one came.

“Quiet now, dolly.” His teeth chewed at your waistband for a few seconds before pulling it down completely. “Up,” he tapped your waist, and you obediently raised your hips. He pried your pants off you.

“Oh,” he let out a disappointed sigh when he saw that your panties were still covering you. “We’ve got to take this off, hm?” He cooed at you again. “Come on, taking it off for me now.”

“What?”

“I said, take it off.”

“How?” You were taken aback.

“Wiggle wiggle,” he smiled like a dork. Then he sat up and kissed your ear. “I’ll help you with the top till then.”

He helped lift your top over your head directly. Once it was off, his lips immediately latched back onto your cheek. “Panties off, please. Before I rip them apart.”

You nodded and fidgeted for a while, lifting your hips up and down and trying to get the fabric off you. But it wouldn’t budge at all.

“Pathetic,” he said, though he looked at you fondly, as if mocking your vulnerability. Tugging a finger under the waistband of your panties, he peeled the soaked cloth away from your skin easily, patting your waist so you’d lift them up to get it off completely. 

You were exposed to him. Naked from top to bottom except for the bra he somehow hadn’t removed yet. You felt the sudden chill of air against your bare pussy. Your nipples pebbled further. He tossed the underwear aside.

His hands slid along your thighs, spreading them wider. “Beautiful.” His fingers tightened. A hand snaked between your legs, cupping the flesh of your thighs easily. “So wet. Already? You should be ashamed.”

You flushed lightly, trying to come up with a retort. But he shut you up immediately. His middle finger had found its way inside you.

“Fuck—” you groaned, and he snickered.

He wiggled his finger within you, grinding it against your inner walls, pressing firmly on that sweet spot while watching as your face contorted in pleasure.

Your body bucked as he added another finger, stretching you wide open. Then another. And another.

He pulled back suddenly, and you whined.

“Why—?”

“No,” he whispered, standing up. His large frame towered over yours, his hands reaching behind your neck to unclasp your bra. “Such nice tits, dolly.” He squeezed them in his rough palms as if grateful to God for his creations. His thumb brushed across your hardening nipple, teasing the peak into a tighter bud, if that was even possible.

Then he lowered his head, capturing one between his lips and suckling deeply. His tongue flicked expertly at your hardened nipple, nipping lightly.

You could see stars.

Suck. Nip. Twist. Fiddle. Suck. Nip. Twist. Fiddle. Suck. Ni—

He moved onto the other one and did the same.

Fuck was he good at his job.

He left trails of kisses on your chest. Both of them were red and swollen now, and you were left cursing his name in your mind.

“I’ve been playing nice all this while, don’t you think? Let’s make it rougher.”

[phagodyke]

FIRST CONTACT HAS BEEN MADE WITH OUR NEIGHBOURS !! mission accomplished B-)

[ccazimi]

Currit in Sanguine Nostra

pt. 1

cw: vampire hunter!sukuna x vampire!reader, dubcon, enemies to...???, blood (blood drinking, mild gore), violence/torture (electrocution), sadism, usage of a shock collar, petplay, male masturbation, facial, humiliation/degradation, forced submission, piv sex, very mild anal play (more like teasing), hatefucking, creampie, major character death including murder-suicide, angst wc: 12k a/n: i listened to ma meilleure ennemie while writing the ending and lowkey cried ummm also i didn't edit this i'll clean it up tmr sorry if it's a bit rough

songs i listened to while writing this part

me again - 12 rounds

stitch in time - genitorturers

ma meilleure ennemie - stromae, pomme, arcane

You drift in and out of a restless mockery of sleep the next day, dreams pulling you under in ragged fragments. In some, you’re a child again—perhaps the closest you’ve ever come to feeling human.

Sometimes, you used to pretend you were one of them. But the hunger always ruined it in the end.

Hunger.

Your oldest companion…your only companion.

It’s the thing that defines you, that sets you apart. The reminder that no matter how well you mimic them, you don’t belong. Not to the world of the living, nor the dead. You exist somewhere in between—drifting, untethered.

But there are two absolutes in your reality, two anchors in the dark.

Hunger.

And Sukuna.

The man who was your enemy before you even knew his name. The man whose purpose was to end you—but instead, became bound to you, inexplicably and irrevocably. The man who, despite everything, has become just as much a part of you as the hunger itself.

Hunger and Sukuna.

The two things you can never escape.

And now, they’ve become one and the same.

You should have run, should have fed elsewhere, done anything.

But instead, you lay tangled in fever-damp sheets that still smell like him, every nerve fraying, every breath dry with wanting.

You wake with a jolt—head heavy, limbs trembling. His blood still burns through your veins like venom, sweet and spoiled.

You're not just hungry—you're sick.

The room is quiet in the evening that has settled like a bruise.

He hasn’t killed you. Maybe he’s waiting—for you to crawl, beg, break.

You move slowly, swallowing your weakness and forcing your steps to be deliberate.

His scent draws you to the living room… and there he is. Sprawled out on the couch like a predator at rest. Shirt open, glass of liquor dangling between his fingers, looking completely at ease.

Like he’s not the reason you’ve been wrecked for the last twenty-four hours.

The wound on his neck is closed now, but the bruising’s deepened—an angry, violent purple. Evidence of your teeth.

Your throat still burns, your stomach’s a churning knot, but it's deeper than hunger.

It’s worse.

You feel like you're rotting without more of him—yet at the same time, your body is rejecting it.

“What the hell did you put in your blood?”

Your voice comes out hoarse, but steady.

Sukuna doesn't blink. Just tilts his glass, gaze lazily dragging down your body—your flushed skin, the faint tremble in your fingers.

“I didn’t take anything,” he says evenly.

You stare at him, trying to read the lie. But there isn’t one, and unfortunately you believe him. You tasted it last night. There was nothing foreign, just him.

How perfect, then. That the blood that’s rivaled yours for generations would be the one that makes you sick.

And the one you crave more than anything else you've ever tasted.

The irony would be almost funny if it didn’t feel like it was killing you.

But then, another thought pierces through the haze.

“…Not even antivenom?”

You fed from him enough that his mind should be bowing to your will. The average man would become obsessed with you from a single bite, and while Sukuna isn't the average man it's odd that there was no reaction at all.

He snorts. “Don’t need it for a sucker as weak as you. Wouldn’t do shit to me anyway.”

You grind your teeth but force yourself to stay neutral, prowling toward him with slow steps.

“I’m hungry.”

Sukuna exhales sharply through his nose, more amused than anything, and lifts his glass for another slow sip.

“That so?”

You swallow your irritation, keeping your voice level.

“Yes.”

Finally, he looks at you fully—his eyes glinting with something sharp, yet cruelly playful.

“And what, exactly, do you think I’m going to do about that?”

Your jaw tightens.

He knows. Of course he does. He always does.

Sees right through you—down to the marrow, to the way your body hums with sickness and longing, wound tight with want.

“I need more.”

You don’t beg, don’t bother to soften it, just lay it bare.

His lips curl.

“Need?”

He leans forward slightly, the lazy shift of weight somehow predatory. “Didn’t take long for you to turn into a little addict, huh?”

Heat flashes under your skin as your fingers twitch.

You hate the way he says it, like this was always going to happen, like it was his plan all along.

“And?” You step closer. “Are you going to give it to me, or just sit there running your mouth?”

His brows rise, mock-surprised. “Oh? You want me to?”

You bite your tongue as hunger claws at you, tight and wild beneath your ribs. Your throat is dry, pulsing, the remnants of his blood still lingering on your tongue—something divine turned rotten by denial.

Sukuna leans back, head tilting as he studies you.

“Tell me, little leech,” he murmurs, voice smooth and dark. “Which ache are you really asking me to fix?”

Your stomach drops, a shiver crawling up your spine, slow as poison.

Because you don’t know. Not really. Lust, desire, hunger—they’ve twisted into something indistinguishable.

It’s all the same in the end. All a craving for him.

But you won’t flinch, won’t give him that.

Instead you sneer at him. “Why don’t you give me what I want and find out?”

His smirk deepens.

“Oh, I already know.” His voice dips, twisting with something cold.

“Bet you couldn’t even sleep, could you? All squirming, all wound up—” He leans in, voice low and cutting, “—fingers weren’t enough, were they?”

Your body moves before your mind catches up.

One moment, he’s lounging there, glass dangling from his fingers like a dare, smirking like he owns you.

The next, you lunge.

Hunger rips through you, primal and brutal as instinct blots out reason. You’re on him in a blink—fangs bared, claws digging for his jaw, desperate to rip it sideways, to expose the throb of his artery.

But Sukuna is faster.

He pivots—just enough to throw you off balance. Then his palm slams squarely into your sternum and he throws you.

Your spine hits the floor with a crack that leaves the walls shuddering, as pain detonates up your back.

You snarl, writhing, legs lashing out to knock him off and he just laughs.

“Poor little thing,” he sneers, voice honey-thick with mockery. “Left to take care of yourself like some neglected pet. And still—”

His knee drives up between your thighs, cruel and deliberate in the way it grinds into that one aching spot. You gasp—body reacting against your will as heat throbs through your core.

“—you came crawling back.”

You twist, head spinning, teeth snapping toward his throat. They clack as they close around nothing when he jerks back just enough to stay out of range.

“Tch.”

His hand clamps your jaw, forcing your mouth open, fingers digging into your cheeks until your breath shudders.

“What now?” he murmurs, low and cruel. “Acting like some wild animal? No pride left?”

You growl, chest heaving.

You despise how your body responds to his weight, how his scent drowns your thoughts, how his pulse sings in your ears like a curse.

You spit his own words back at him, poison-laced. “And you love it.”

His grin splits wider, something dark flickering behind his eye.

“Maybe I do.”

His lips brush your ear—just breath and heat.

“Did you cry for me last night?” he whispers. “Touch yourself to the thought of me?”

One moment of hesitation—just long enough for him to see it.

His grin sharpens, wicked.

“Ohhh… You did, didn’t you?”

Rage detonates.

You snap again, harder, fangs out, strength flaring wild as you thrust your torso upwards.

Impact.

Your back slams into the floor again with a crack loud enough to splinter the wood.

In your stomach, something lurches, your brain pounding with that toxic blood coursing through it.

Still, even in your feverish, sickened state, you can't stop.

You twist like a rabid thing, clawing and bucking, fingers slashing until he catches your arm mid-swing and twists.

The crack of your bone is sharp and awful, pain lancing up your arm like lightning.

You scream—but not from fear.

From fury.

He slams your wrist down, pinning it to the floor. His other hand wraps around your throat and squeezes, cutting off your air.

“Pathetic,” he breathes.

You manage a snarl through clenched teeth. “Fuck you.”

He laughs. Horribly delighted.

“You can’t even touch me,” he mocks. “What, all that hunger, and this is the best you’ve got?”

You lash out again, thrashing as much as you can with any free part of your body.

His hand tightens on your throat.

His voice drops lower, like he's talking in pity to some fucking stray. “You’re so hungry, aren’t you?”

You snap, flailing around again, this time with mild success when your long nails catch his cheek deep enough to draw blood.

There's just a flicker of satisfaction in you before his laughter deepens.

He licks the blood from his lip, eyes glowing with some kind of thrill. “Good,” he growls. “That’s more like it.”

Suddenly he lets go, and that's when you feel it—the pain in your arm, the bone he cracked—it's knitting itself back together.

You feel the muscle realigning, sinew fusing. The sound is low, wet, wrong, and then it’s done. You don't have to look to know bruises are already fading from other parts of your skin, scrapes sealing themselves over.

His eyes flick to your arm, watching the contorted limb revert back to its original state, and something in his expression changes.

Not surprise or fear. More like...intrigue.

Dark, vicious intrigue

You try to spring up again, feral instinct overriding thought, and that's exactly what he wanted.

He catches you mid-motion, spins you, and slams you down, face-first this time. The breath is knocked clean from your lungs.

Before you can recover, he’s on you again, weight crushing your back, knee digging into your spine. One hand knots in your hair, yanking your head back, the other twists your arm behind you—just shy of breaking it again.

You thrash, scream, curse.

He just chuckles.

“I should break you. You’re too stupid to quit.”

Your vision swims red. Maybe because he's partially right.

His knee presses harder into your back, then something cold brushes your neck.

Metal.

Click.

A collar.

You freeze; not from fear, but recognition.

The pressure on your arm eases slightly, just enough for your fingers to reach your throat as you claw at the cool metal. It won't budge.

Beep.

Your pulse spikes.

Sukuna leans close as he clicks his tongue in disapproval. "Try to take it off,” he whispers, “and I might just test it on you.”

You go still, but your eyes blaze.

He trails a slow finger along the edge of the collar. “There,” he murmurs. “That’s better.”

His hand tightens just enough to make you swallow, to make you feel it.

Something inside you snaps in panic, like a wild animal realizing it's been caged in and exploding. Against your better judgement, you try to go for him again.

Another mistake.

The moment your arm swings up, there's pain.

White-hot, searing, blinding pain.

The collar pulses with raw electric current, slamming through your body. You scream as your muscles seize, legs collapsing till your knees hit the floor with a sickening crack.

Your back arches and every nerve burns.

And through the agony, you hear his laughter.

Finally the waves stop and he crouches beside you, watching the way your body twitches from the aftershocks.

“You’re not very bright, are you?” he purrs.

You shake, but you don’t cry. There's a cloyingly sweet smell, and you realize with disgust it's the smell of your flesh cooking.

Your teeth bare as you glare up at him, every breath a battle though your body is already regenerating.

“Oh?” he taunts. “Still got fight left?”

You snarl, body trembling, fangs glinting.

Click.

The second shock hits harder, the healing process interrupted as your whole body jerks, bones slamming against the floor. Your scream rips free, raw and ragged.

Light blooms behind your eyes, fracturing your vision.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Shaking already?”

He watches your fingers spasm, watches the flicker of humiliation in your eyes.

Then, he caresses your cheek.

“Did you really think you could take from me?” he whispers.

You twitch under his touch—still burning, still raging.

But bound and helpless.

Suddenly, beneath the sharp, acrid sting of singed skin, you smell it. That same scent from last night — alkaline and musky.

Your stomach twists as your gaze drops slowly, unwillingly, and there it is — a bulge, obvious and undeniable.

Your breath catches, not from fear, but revulsion as you shudder.

He’s hard.

Your stomach roils. You want to claw his other eye out, rip his throat open, scream.

God, you hate him.

“You get what I decide to give you." His smirk turns into something heinous. "And tonight? You get nothing."

Then, just to drive it home, he pats your cheek and stands, leaving you there—collared, quivering, burning with humiliation, hunger, hatred.

You wake up seething.

Your body aches, your pride is in shreds, and worst of all, the collar is still there. A cruel weight around your throat, snug against delicate skin, mocking you with its presence.

You fumble with it for a few minute, to absolutely no avail as the lock holds, unmoving. No matter how hard you tug, no matter how raw your skin burns, it doesn’t budge.

Fucking bastard.

The door creaks. Footsteps.

You don’t need to look up; Sukuna’s presence is suffocating.

“Morning, pet.”

Your hands ball into fists, nails digging into your palms.

His voice is too amused, too self-satisfied, and it takes everything in you not to lunge at him on sight.

He crouches, tilting his head as if examining you.

“Oh? No snarling today? No pathetic little threats?” He grins, eyes dancing with delight. “You’re not pouting, are you?”

You whip your head up, glaring daggers.

He laughs. Loud, open, unbothered.

“Ahhh. There it is.” His fingers flick under your chin, forcing your head up higher. “That pissed-off little glare. Always so mad.”

Your lip curls. “I’m going to rip your fucking throat out.”

Sukuna just clicks his tongue.

“Tch. More empty threats? Haven’t we been through this?”

Click.

Pain explodes through your body.

A sharp current crackles through your nerves, muscles locking, lungs seizing as you choke on a strangled gasp. Your vision whites out for a second, fingers digging into the floor you haven't even realized you've collapsed onto.

“You never learn, do you?”

The moment the current stops, your body collapses, gasping, shaking from the aftershocks. Every nerve is burning, but the rage—the rage is blinding.

“Fuck—you,” you snarl, voice ragged, barely above a growl.

Sukuna’s smirk deepens.

"See?" he breathes, trailing lazy fingers along the collar. "That’s why you need training."

Your body tenses.

“You—”

His hand clamps onto your jaw, cutting you off instantly.

"Shhhh." His grip tightens until your teeth grind together, his mocking amusement never faltering. "Did I ask you to speak?"

Fury churns in your chest, a wild, blistering rage—you lash out, but Sukuna’s already waiting for it. The moment you move, his other hand presses the remote.

Click.

Electricity rips through you once again. Your whole body convulses—a ragged scream ripped from your throat as the pain tears through your nerves.

It lasts longer this time. When it finally stops, you double over, chest heaving, limbs trembling uncontrollably.

You snarl, teeth bared, but your body still shakes from the shocks.

"You want me?" he purrs. "Then earn it."

His fingers toy with the collar again, voice dripping with amusement as you pant, catching your breath, feeling your cells renew.

“You do as I say. You behave. And maybe...maybe I’ll reward you.”

Sukuna pulls back, grinning.

“But if you don’t?” His thumb hovers over the remote.

His eyes are bright, thrilled, drinking in your rage, your helplessness.

“Then we keep doing this.” He chuckles. “Again. And again. And again.”

The next day is humiliating.

The collar is tight, an ever-present reminder against your throat. The remote is always in his grip, always a threat, and Sukuna?

Sukuna is having the time of his life.

“Go on.” He gestures toward the floor with a flick of his fingers, voice mocking. “Crawl.”

Your teeth grind.

You stay frozen, muscles coiled, every nerve in your body screaming at you to refuse. To tear him apart, to fight, to kill him.

His smirk widens.

“Oh?” he purrs. “You think you still have a choice?"

Click.

It lasts just long enough to remind you. Sukuna tilts his head, watching you pant through clenched teeth.

“Don’t make me say it twice,” he breathes.

Your breath shudders, hands clenching into fists. Your pride screams at you not to, but the threat lingers, hot and buzzing under your skin.

Slowly, your fingers uncurl and your arms lower as you sink down to your hands and knees.

Sukuna grins, victorious.

“Awww,” he croons, eyes gleaming with delight. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Vitriol burns deep, scalding inside you like a toxin. Your hands shake against the floor, your body tense, humiliated, but you can’t react, not if you want to avoid the next shock.

Sukuna leans back against his chair, watching you like something he managed to capture.

“You know,” he muses, “I think I like you like this.”

Your head snaps up, glaring up at him.

His eye flashes, anticipating your outburst, enough to make you bite your tongue as your body tenses, practically able to feel phantom shocks running through it.

“Ohhh,” he breathes, thrilled. “You almost did it, didn’t you? Almost told me to go fuck myself.”

Your teeth grind harder, muscles locking.

Sukuna snickers. “You’re learning.”

Then, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black cloth, dangling it from two fingers.

“Put this on.”

You blink. “What—?”

“The blindfold,” he says, voice syrupy and cruel. “Now.”

You hesitate.

He doesn’t even speak this time—just taps the remote with one nail, the silent threat making your gut churn.

With shaking hands, you take the cloth and tie it over your eyes.

Darkness swallows everything, amplifying every other sense. The sound of his breath. The hum of the lights. The subtle movement of air as he shifts nearby. The faint smell of his bodywash.

You're blind now. Vulnerable and open.

You flinch as you hear him move—closer, closer, until the heat of him is almost brushing your skin.

“Good girl,” he whispers beside your ear.

A hand slides along your cheek, then down—and then you hear footsteps, the noise of him sitting back on the couch.

Silence stretches.

You sit there, blindfolded, the floor cold beneath your knees, every inch of your skin crawling with unease.

A soft rustle, like he’s shifting.

“I should invite someone over,” he says idly, like he’s thinking aloud. “Let them see how obedient you are. How pretty you look when you’re quiet.”

He laughs softly at the way you stiffen.

“Relax,” he drawls. “Not today. But maybe someday.”

You hear the clink of glass and ice. A drink being poured.

“Spread your knees.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t move.

Click.

A jolt of pain zips across your spine—sharp, fast, enough to make you flinch and gasp.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he murmurs.

You force your muscles to obey, sliding your knees apart against the floor.

There’s a long, deliberate pause.

You hear him take a sip of his drink, the clink of ice again.

“Hands behind your back.”

Another pause, but you obey.

Your breathing is loud now, uneven, as you sit there, nerves wracked in anxious anticipation.

Sukuna hums in approval as you sit, rage rolling off you in waves as you’re forced to kneel before him like some kind of god.

“Good. Just stay like that, alright?” he purrs, followed by the sound of a zipper being undone.

Your eyes widen beneath the mask of black, like they’re straining to see through the fabric.

“What the fuck—” You pause, reluctantly correcting yourself. “What are you doing?”

Another rustling and then the scent of his pre-spend hits your nostrils, stirring something in you, between your thighs.

“Mm. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The soft sound of skin being stroked.

You swallow, heart in your throat as you pick up gentle shucking sounds, followed by the sharp hiss of a breath sucked in between teeth.

When he speaks again, his voice is lower, a little rougher.

“But pets don’t get to ask questions. They just need to sit there and look pretty.”

You keep silent, unsure how to feel right now.

You’re still entirely clothed — he could’ve made you undress, touch yourself, do anything at all to get off to. And instead he’s jerking off just at the sight of you helpless and compliant.

Bowed in submission.

“Tell me how much you hate me.”

You blink, straining to pick up any deception in his voice. Some kind of trap, surely.

“I don’t know what you mean…” you mutter unsurely.

A throaty breath escapes him as you hear his pace picking up slightly.

“Exactly what I said. I know you’ve got some nasty little things you’re just dying to spit out.”

You hesitate.

“Or—” The sharp click of his nails tapping on the remote.

Your breath stutters.

“I hate you,” you blurt, chest rising and falling too fast. “I hate everything about you.”

He hums, pleased, the slick sound of him pumping his cock becoming louder, more intense. “Keep going.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re cruel. Sadistic. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

He says nothing.

You push forward, heart pounding, the smell of his pre cum flooding your keen senses, making you salivate even as you spit the venom you hold for him.

“You enjoy watching people suffer. You enjoy watching me suffer.”

A deep groan cuts through the air—low, filthy, pleased. It makes your stomach twist and your skin burn in humiliation.

You know he’s getting off on this, but you can’t help yourself, not when he’s finally given the chance for you to speak your mind.

Your jaw locks. “Ironic they call me a monster,” you snarl, “when a sick fuck like you gets to walk around free.”

“More,” he rasps. The sound of it is hungry, breathless. “Say it like you mean it.”

Your nails dig into your palms.

“I wish you were dead,” you whisper, each word trembling with rage. “I wish you’d choke on your own blood, feel every bone in your body snap, scream until your voice gives out.”

His breathing deepens.

“I want to be the one who ends you,” you hiss. “I want to watch you die slow. I want to see the panic crawl across your face when you realize no one’s coming to save you. I want to be the last thing you see before everything goes dark, before you go burn in whatever hell you’re going to.”

There’s a pause. A long one. Filled only with the sound of him jerking his dick, slower right now.

You hear the couch shift as he leans forward, breath brushing the shell of your ear.

“There she is,” he purrs. “My little monster.”

You flinch.

His hand slides along your jaw—gentle, almost affectionate.

“You hate me,” he murmurs, “but you’re still here. Still kneeling. Still obeying.”

His fingers trace the edge of your blindfold.

“Tell me why.”

You stay silent, jaw clenched, blood roaring in your ears.

He tilts your chin up—his grip firmer now. “Tell me.”

“Because you’ll hurt me if I don’t.”

“Exactly.”

The word comes out as a growl, and there a second of stroking and low pants before you feel something splatter against your cheek, taking you by surprise.

Warm. Salty. Bitter.

His cum spills all over your face, some catching across your nose and lips, dripping down. It feels like bugs crawling on your skin, and you have to fight the urge to wipe off the virile fluid now painting you.

It smells like his precum, but stronger. Hotter. Alive.

Finally you feel no fresh spurts landing on you as the sound of his movement slows, replaced only by his breathing, heavy and satisfied.

You don’t realize your lips are slightly parted until some of the cum trickling down your face tickles the curve of your upper lip.

“I should really take a picture of you like this. What do you think, leech?”

You bite your cheek, jaw clenched so hard it hurts. “I think there’s something really fucking wrong with you.”

Sukuna snickers—no shame, no guilt, just cruel amusement. You hear the rustle of fabric, the zip of his fly. The sound makes your gut twist with something shameful. Your thighs press together instinctively, helpless against the dull, throbbing ache between your legs.

It’s sick. You feel sick.

He’s doing this on purpose.

You know he is.

“…Can I take this off?” you ask quietly, voice frayed at the edges. The blindfold itches, clings.

You want to be alone, want to fall into your sheets and do something—anything—to bleed the heat out of you.

He lets out a breath, bored now. You hear him lean back, the lazy clink of ice against glass.

“Mm. Sure. Whatever.”

A sip.

You fumble at the knot behind your head, fingers shaky. The fabric peels away with a damp, dragging sound, and the sudden light—however dim—makes you squint. Your eyes take a second to adjust.

And then you see him.

Sitting in that chair like a king—loose shirt, legs sprawled, drink in one hand. Still watching you with that unreadable, heavy-lidded gaze. Nothing about him says danger, and yet every part of you feels wired to flee.

Instead, you sit there, skin prickling, shame still thick on your tongue.

You expect him to say something cruel. Another jab, another reminder of who holds the leash.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his gaze lowers to your mouth.

“You’ve been good,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Didn’t beg. Didn’t bite.”

His eyes flash with something darker, something considering.

“You want a reward?”

“What?”

He doesn’t repeat himself, just sets his drink down, rolls up his sleeve and turns his wrist over, exposing the unscarred skin of his other forearm.

The knife appears like magic, you didn’t even see him grab it.

There's a clean slice, and a ribbon of red swells instantly.

He holds it out to you.

You freeze, contemplating, mind reeling.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Sukuna says, voice low but sharp now.

You hate him.

You hate him for knowing exactly what this will do to you. For how fast your fangs descend, for the way your pulse howls at the scent.

But most of all, you hate yourself—because your body’s already moving.

You crawl to him.

Every step feels like it costs something, like pride scraped off your ribs, dignity leaking out your eyes. Your knees burn on the floor as you inch forward, closer and closer to where he sits, arm outstretched like an offering from a throne.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink.

You pause at his feet, breath shallow. The scent is dizzying—copper and warmth and him. Your fingers tremble as they curl around his wrist, guiding it down. His blood drips slow, thick, a thread of red down his arm. Your mouth opens.

And when your lips finally touch his skin, something breaks.

The taste floods you instantly—hot and heady and so much more than it should be. Not just nourishment. Not just survival. It’s him, and it’s power, and it’s control, and you hate it. You hate that you moan softly, that your tongue presses hungrily into the wound, that your hands slide up his arm like you’re holding onto something holy.

And worst of all, he lets you.

You feel his fingers in your hair, slow and steady, as he watches.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

Your body shudders at the praise. You want to spit it out. You want to tear your mouth away. But your hunger is deeper than your shame, and right now you're starving.

You drink like he’s the only thing keeping your body from unraveling into ash and dust, knowing full well how ill you'll feel later.

The blood is hot, thicker than it should be, each swallow burning its way down your throat, and your limbs tremble as strength seeps back in—strength that comes from him.

But that’s not what breaks you; it's the sound he makes.

A soft exhale almost a sigh—and his grip in your hair tightens, not to stop you, but to keep you there. Like he’s savoring this just as much, the sight of you on your knees, mouth to his skin.

And something inside you twists.

Not with rage, not with grief, but something worse. Something wet and hungry and needy.

You’re not just feeding anymore.

You’re worshipping. The act changes without you realizing it. It’s not frantic or desperate anymore, the way it was before. The hunger is still there, but it’s become more—soothing, almost tender in its own dark way. Your lips are gentle against his skin, your tongue tracing the wound with a kind of reverence. The movement is soft, almost hypnotic, and it feels like a surrender, a quiet admission that you’ve already given in to him more than you care to acknowledge.

Because you’re already there—somewhere past the threshold of shame, in that liminal space where pain and power collapse into pleasure. Where your body has stopped belonging to your will, and now belongs to.

And finally you pull away, almost against your own will, as the blood continues to course in your veins, heightening every nerve, every sensation. But something about the intensity, the closeness, makes it too much.

The hunger in you, the desperation—it’s suffocating.

You let his wrist go, slowly, and your hands fall to your sides, trembling from the pull of everything you’ve just given away.

Sukuna’s presence hovers over you, almost tangible, his eyes never leaving you. It’s as though he’s waiting for something more—waiting for you to crack open completely. But you can’t. Not like this. Not yet.

You don’t look at him.

Instead, you focus on your breath, on the way your body seems to react to the smallest movements. Heat simmers under your skin, traveling elsewhere, somewhere it shouldn't.

Something urgent, that will need to be taken care of soon.

The room feels too small now, stifling, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. His smirk hasn’t faded, but there’s something cold in his eyes now, something that wasn’t there before.

“You’re weak,” he says quietly, but the words lack their usual bite... they sound almost measured, as though he’s seeing something new in you.

Or perhaps, you’ve shown him too much.

You don’t answer. You can’t bear to hear him anymore.

It’s not even two more days, yet time passes slower when every second feels like torture.

Every waking minute with that fucking collar around your neck, with him making you do whatever humiliating trick that he fancies at the moment.

There’s something uniquely horrifying about being a supernatural being with healing capabilities, yet the capacity to feel pain like any other living creature.

And there’s something unique about the pain of being electrified.

It isn’t like stabbing or burning, no, it’s an invasive type of pain that hijacks the entire neurological system, fires every pain receptor at once, inside and outside.

Put the two together and you get a body that can never adapt—because each time the nerve damage from the shocks is repaired perfectly.

Calluses, scars, numbness— these are adaptive responses. Things you don’t get.

So every click of that remote, every electrocution feels like the first.

No dulling, no immunity. The pain never gets easier—of having every muscle in your body seize, of feeling like your nerves are on fire, smelling your skin sizzle.

And though your body may reset, your brain doesn’t.

The end result is feeling powerless in a uniquely feral way, because the one thing you can’t regenerate is control.

So you bow your head, do what he wants. Endure the humiliation rituals. The demeaning words. You hate them, but you learn that to ignore them is self-preservation.

But then he pushes too far. Sukuna's always been good at finding what really makes you tick.

“God, you’re so weak it’s pathetic.”

And as usual, you don’t reply, keeping your gaze lowered. But it’s his next words, that spark something bitter in you.

“Probably runs in the blood. Mm, what happened to your parents again?” He scoffs as you stiffen. “Killed off by some amateur fucking hunters. Now that’s humiliating.”

There's a shift in you, but you push it down and just stare blankly, at the floor, the wall—anywhere but him.

Anywhere safe.

And yet it festers—that sound in his voice, that smirk you can feel even without seeing it. It grows like pressure behind your eyeballs, a dizzying sensation in your brain.

Because you’ve taken everything—every insult, every jolt, every order barked with that false, velvet calm.

But this is different. He doesn’t just want you obedient; he wants you small.

And for the first time in days, you feel it—a flicker of something wild, a heat that doesn’t come from the shocks.

At first it’s a twitching in your jaw, but then your fingers curl just slightly as it builds like a pressure throbbing in your skull.

You wish you could control it—keep pushing it down, stay smart, stay quiet—but it’s done. The dam breaks.

There's no warning when you abruptly pounce towards him.

He doesn’t expect it, but instinctively the button on the remote is pressed, and that now familiar pain overtakes your system.

This time however, by some streak of luck, you continue to swipe at him with your flailing limbs, aiming loosely for the remote held midair.

It falls to the ground, and in an instant the shocks stop, your body already putting itself back together.

There’s a single second, one of those few moments where genuine surprise flashes across his face.

A hint of worry even, maybe.

Too late.

Your heel stomps onto it, the material giving way with a brittle crack, and something inside you unhinges with it.

Silence. A flicker of eye contact, and a wicked grin unfurling across your lips.

Then you move, but Sukuna’s already calibrated then, adapted to the new circumstances.

The fight explodes—fast, brutal, feral.

No strategy, no restraint, just raw nerve and muscle and memory. The blur of bodies crashing against walls, teeth flashing, claws slashing. Your claws rake across his side, catching skin along with the cloth and peeling it back with a wet sound that makes your stomach knot, but you don’t stop. He blocks, counters, but you’re not the same thing you were moments ago, not when your blood sings with rage, your limbs moving faster than thought, all sharp instincts and hunger.

He underestimates how long you've been waiting for this, how long you've needed this, how much of your rage you've been collecting.

Your shoulder takes the brunt of a punch that sends you sprawling against the wall. Plaster explodes in a white puff around you, and a rib gives with a sickening crack. Pain lances through your spine like lightning—but you're already up again, fangs bared. Blood clings to your lip, not all yours. Some of it you can taste—copper and heat, familiar now.

Addictive.

No more snarky comments, no more clicks or shocks erupting from the metal around your neck, only the sound of fists hitting flesh, of bone cracking under pressure.

You drive him back, but he’s laughing. He’s grinning—if the borderline maniacal expression on his face can even be called that, something so exhilarated that it makes your own skin buzz, fueling you more.

You feel your body burning, every nerve awake, every injury healing almost as fast as it happens, but not fast enough to avoid pain. No, you feel everything.

But this time, the pain feels almost like catharsis.

You spit blood, swipe your hand across your mouth, and launch again.

You don't know how long you fight, but it must have been long, with the way your strikes start to lose precision. His too. Sloppier now, desperate.

Everything that could’ve been a weapon has been—shattered chairs, broken lamps, jagged pieces of the coffee table now scattered like shrapnel across the floor.

Half the room’s destroyed, maybe more.

Sukuna is a ruin—his body a map of fresh wounds and older ones split open. Bruises bloom along his ribs, one arm hangs slightly looser in its socket, his lip is split, nose flattened, and even the scarred hollow where his eye used to be is bleeding.

You don’t wear your wounds the same way. You heal, yes, but even that comes with a price. Your body screams with fatigue, not just from the blows but from the endless, greedy churn of regeneration.

It’s slower now. Faltering. Some of your skin still glistens with that pale, translucent sheen of half-healed flesh—sticky, pink, leaking the thin serum that comes before blood. Other gashes are raw and red, torn back open mid-repair by the next hit, or the one after.

You're dripping, and trembling, but not from fear.

Every time you think you've hit your limit, your body finds one more burst of energy. And so does he. You’re both running on fumes and fury now, nothing left but nerve and instinct and the memory of pain.

You don’t see it coming.

One second you’re lunging, the next—he catches your momentum, turns it against you. Your back slams into the edge of a wooden table with a sickening crack. Pain explodes through your body, but you barely register it; you're already twisting, half instinct, half calculation—until he’s there again.

His chest crashes into yours, and the next moment, you're pinned. His body drives forward, shoving you hard against the table, the shock collar biting into your throat.

Your breath stutters.

The position feels wrong, and yet, it feels like everything you want, have been wanting—his weight on top of you, something dangerous in his eyes, something hungry.

“Still fighting?” he growls, rolling his hips into yours, slow and heavy, a taunt made of friction. You hate the gasp it forces from your lips.

You bare your teeth. “Fuck you.”

He smirks, all teeth. “Not yet.”

You thrash, but his grip just tightens—like he’s daring you to break.

“You hate this,” he whispers against your ear, his breath electric. “But you’re shaking. Not just from anger, either.”

Your nails carve red into his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. Just grins wider.

“I should kill you,” you hiss.

“You’ve tried.” His hand drags down neck, till your chest, giving one of your heaving breasts a testing squeeze.

“Fuck—Get off me,” you growl, breathless.

“Make me.” The challenge hangs there, hot and sharp, as he deliberately presses the hardness in his pants against you.

You snarl and buck, fury boiling up—but his voice drops lower, more dangerous.

“Mm, keep fighting. It just gets me harder."

A jolt of white-hot shame and arousal flashes through you. The shock collar burns your throat with every movement, but it’s nothing compared to the heat pooling between your legs, desire flaring despite every instinct telling you to resist.

“You’re pathetic,” you whisper, tears burning at the corners of your eyes as he leans in close, split lips ghosting over the corner of yours.

“Makes two of us then, I guess,” he murmurs with a dark laugh.

His lips capture yours in a hard, almost bruising kiss, and you try to resist, but the taste of him is overwhelming, the tip of your tongue automatically darting out to lick the blood seeping from the cut. It's sweeter here.

Your body reacts before you can stop it, your legs wrapping around his waist in spite of yourself, pulling him closer.

And Sukuna relishes it.

Every struggle, every breathless gasp, every moment of broken resistance only makes him more satisfied, more hungry for the fight, for the chaos, for the way you’re teetering on the edge of everything.

“Such a good little pet,” he whispers, his voice low and mocking as he grinds against you one last time.

“Su—kuna, please—” you choke out, unbearable heat burning you all over, more and more slick pooling into your panties as his bulge rubs into you. You hear him exhale when you tightens your legs around his waist further to match his movements with your own undulating hips, grinding your clothed cunt onto his erection.

“Please what?” He breathes, though you can tell he’s barely holding on himself, holding onto every last bit of his self control.

“Please fuck me.”

With those three words his hands are on the waist of your pants, ripping them off, sliding them down along with your panties in a borderline feral urgency. There’s almost a kind of relief when you finally get them off, falling to the ground, feeling your dripping cunt finally freed from the confines of clothing.

His gaze is ravenous—almost mirroring your own hunger—as he pushes you further onto the table, yanking your legs apart to forcefully spread them so he can see the sticky mess between your thighs.

You pant softly as he looks your pussy up and down, eye darkening as it roves over your puffy folds, your leaking hole clenching over nothing, his lip curling into a smirk.

“Aww all this for me?” he coos, before abruptly spanking your swollen clit with one hand. The impact makes you jolt, involuntarily letting out a small whine. “Does my pet need her needy little hole filled?”

You just sob in desperation — that burning, horrible ache only worsening with how close you are. “Y-Yes…”

“Finally honest for once, are we?” he hums, before pushing your legs up all the way to your chest and taking one of your hands to hook it behind your knee. “Here. Keep yourself held open like a good slut. Think you can do that?”

Anger pricks at you again, but you bite your lip and nod quietly, following his instructions to hold both your legs folded into you, exposing your holes to him completely.

Perhaps, if your head wasn’t spinning and so utterly lost in the need right now, you’d have some shame.

You watch with eagerly as he frees his cock, eyes widening and then dropping further in lust at the sight of it.

A trail of dark pink hair leads down to the tattooed base of his girthy length, though what really catches your eye is the glint of metal on the underside of his shaft.

Your mouth falls open a bit in surprise and he drinks in your reaction, smirking at you from over the bridge of his nose as he continues to pump his leaking cock at a relaxed pace. “Drooling just at the sight of my cock like a pathetic mutt, huh?”

Your lip curls back slightly as he provokes you again, clearly intent on not letting you live any of this down. But once again, you resist the urge to say anything back, knowing that if you open your mouth nothing good will come out.

The slightly alkaline smell of his precum hits your nostrils again, flaring up your hunger and the ache in your cunt all at once as you wet your lips, watching him with dark eyes.

Sukuna slaps his hard cock on your cunt once, then twice, humming in satisfaction at the soft gasps leaving your lips with each lewd wet smack.

With all your senses on edge, you become even more aware of the uncomfortable metal still wrapped around your neck.

It annoys you.

“Can you remove this thing?” You shift to show him the collar, slightly out of breath already.

He glances at it, unconcerned as he drags his cock through your slick folds, torturing you with the way his piercing catches on your clit. “Mmm, I don’t know. Seeing it on you turns me on.”

Sukuna flashes you a sleazy grin as the tip of his cock, oozing with pearlescent pre, smacks again on your clit. “So quit complaining…you wouldn’t want me to get that remote again, would you?”

Your mouth goes a bit dry, the threat snapping you back to reality just a bit as you obediently shake your head.

“Please.” You swallow. “I just need you in me, Sukuna…” You hold your legs apart a bit wider as you look up at him with pleading eyes, showing him that you’re willing to behave.

“Hm. Guess all that training did pay off,” he muses, flashing you a wicked grin as you feel something prod against the tight rim of your asshole.

Your jaw clenches as you flinch, trying to shrink away. “Fuck, n-not that hole—”

He leans over you, one hand planted firmly by your head as the other holds the tip of his cock, teasingly pushing a bit into your entrance.

“Oh? But didn’t you know?” he coos, breaching the rim just enough to make you squeak in pain. “Dirty sluts like you take it in the ass.”

Sukuna, who was probably expecting you to put up a fight or something, is evidently amused when all you do is pout in the most miserable, helpless way.

“I’ve beaten you up, cut you, drugged you, poisoned you, electrocuted you, and this is what you’re scared of? Anal?” he snickers.

“I can’t… I’ve never done it before, you’ll tear me apart…”

“Huh.” He grins deviously, rubbing his sticky tip into your rim, smearing it with precum. “I've seen how well you can heal yourself, though...”

Your eyes shoot open as you once again flinch, recoiling from the touch. “Sukuna!”

“Mm, fine,” he sighs, and you breathe out in relief when you feel the pressure lift away as he pulls his cock up to your other hole. “But misbehave and that’s where you’ll be taking it next…”

You frown at his dark promise but it’s soon forgotten when he begins to push into your weeping cunt.

Both of you inhale sharply as he breaches your entrance, pushing into the warmth of your plush walls, inch by inch. Even as aroused and wet as you are, you can still feel the stretch of your cunt around his thickness, a dizzying fullness that leaves you breathless when he finally bottoms out.

You’re given approximately one second to adjust to him inside you.

And then, the last of the restraints are ripped apart.

With a growl, Sukuna’s hips begin thrusting violently, making you squeal at the brutal pace he’s abruptly set, cock hitting you deep inside where you’ve been needing him, craving him.

Pleasure blanks your mind completely, eyes rolling back and pulling the most filthy moans from you as his cock rams against the sensitive wall of your cervix, over and over again, heavy balls slapping against your cunt.

“Oh shit, your cunt was made to be my cocksleeve,” he grunts as he ruts into you like a feral animal. “Good little pet, keep squeezing like that. Show me all that you’re—hah—good for—”

“Sh-Shut up!” you hiss between your own whines and the obscene noises of skin slapping against skin, his cock plowing into you like he’s trying to kill you with it. “I’m going to fucking murder y—”

Smack.

Sukuna slaps you for your insolent words, scoffing when you accidentally moan, and your cunt clamps down on him even harder. “Pathetic thing -fuck- you fucking love when I’m mean to you—”

He grips the back of your knees on top of your own hands in the crooks from where droplets of sweat trickle down, pushing down on your thighs to fold you further till your ankles are practically by your ears and it almost hurts. “—When I hurt you—”

“Y-yes, harder Sukuna!” you cry out, tears streaming down your cheeks, not even trying to deny his words.

What’s the point? Sukuna knows you better than anyone else on this planet.

“Filthy mutt!” he snarls, leaning down till his hot breath trails across your lips, cock hitting a tender spot in your silken flesh that makes you buck in ecstasy. “I hope that whole wretched bloodline of yours is watching me defile you!”

You bare your fangs, combined hatred, need, and every other twisted emotion culminating into just this, him buried inside you, dragging along your inflamed walls. And then the chain tucked into his shirt escapes. At the end of it, your broken fang, the one he kept, swinging against your face, suddenly feeling less like a taunt and something much more intimate.

You need him carnally.

With him fucking into you, your tits bouncing with each thrust, you lift your head, bared teeth attempting to latch onto his skin.

Sukuna notices what you’re trying to do and his hips halt suddenly, making you freeze mid bite too.

“I-I’m sorry…I can’t help myself…” you whisper.

The most puzzling part is you genuinely feel bad — which makes no sense. He’s hatefucking you, spitting vile words even when he’s balls deep inside you, and what should really seal in his sadistic nature — that damn necklace — it didn’t. Instead, for a split second you got a different glimpse of him, you, the complex nature of your entanglement with each other.

Maybe you mean as much to him as he does to you.

You wait, looking up at his unreadable expression, waiting for him to shatter the delusion, tell you how goddamn pathetic you are.

Sukuna stares at you, something flickering in his eyes—something unreadable, something dark yet intrigued. His hips are still buried inside you, his body taut with tension, but for once, there’s no mocking words, no sneer on his lips. Just silence.

Then, slowly, his grip on your chin tightens—not cruel, just firm enough to make you look at him, to hold you there beneath his gaze.

"Didn’t mean to?" he echoes, cock still buried inside you. His eyes burn into yours, unreadable. "Since when do you apologize for wanting something?"

You shake your head slightly, breathless, your chest rising and falling against his.

"I—" you swallow thickly, ashamed, confused. "I don’t know. I just—"

Your eyes dart to his neck, his pulse thrumming beneath his skin, calling to you like a drug you can’t resist. Your body betrays you, a soft whimper slipping past your lips as you force yourself to tear your gaze away.

For a long moment, he just watches you. Studies you.

Then, to your shock, his lips curve. Not into his usual cruel smirk, but something slower, something almost… amused.

"You’re pathetic," he murmurs, but it lacks the usual venom. Instead, there’s something almost indulgent in his tone, like he’s pleased.

He shifts suddenly, pressing his chest against yours, his voice a low, taunting whisper against your ear.

"You really do need me, don’t you?"

Heat rushes through you, shame and hunger tangling together into something unbearable. You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head no, but he only chuckles.

"Liar."

Then, to your shock, he tilts his head back, just enough to bare his throat.

Your breath catches.

Your fingers curl into his skin, your entire body aching, trembling with restraint.

"Go on," he murmurs, almost mockingly. "Take what you want."

He’s toying with you, you know that. But for a moment, just a split second, it feels like something else.

Like he’s giving you permission.

Your lips part—your fangs ache—

Then, just before you break, his hand yanks back on your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze again.

His expression is unreadable.

"But if you do," he murmurs, eyes gleaming darkly, "then you admit it. That you belong to me."

You give him a long look, fangs aching, mouth dry, cunt leaking as the pulse under his skin taunts you, the promise of his taste underneath.

You want to believe you don’t belong to anyone. That you existed always as your own.

And still with an exhale you let go of your legs to hold his neck gently as you wrap them around his waist, pulling him deeper to where his cock is still in you.

Your fangs pierce his skin, and the moment his blood touches your tongue, your whole body shudders. It’s too much—rich, intoxicating, him. You whimper before you can stop yourself, burying your face against his neck, drinking deep, desperate.

He gasps ever so slightly, even stiffens a bit, but you swear you can feel his dick twitch in excitement. A low, broken laugh escapes him as his hips begin moving again, working in shorter but harder thrusts. "Fuck—look at you.”

Your hands tremble against his back, nails caressing the surface of his skin, letting out a moan of pleasure, drinking deeper, dizzy with need. And then you feel it, the slight hitch in his breath, the way his hand clenches at your waist, fingers digging in too hard, as if to ground himself through the sharp bloom of pain.

This isn’t the first time you’ve fed from him.

But perhaps all the fighting, all the blood he’s already lost, even the physical toll of fucking you is finally getting to him.

Still, you sink deeper, trying to ignore it, his blood coursing down your throat, and his body shifts against yours, a ragged thrust that pushes deeper, rougher.

But even as you feed, you notice the tightness in his jaw, his breath quickening, a barely perceptible shudder running through his body. His control is slipping, but his pride won’t let him break.

You can’t ignore it.

So you pause.

You draw back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes flicking over his clenched features, the tension in his body a stark contrast to the hunger thrumming between you.

“You’re in pain,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but the accusation is clear.

You wonder how much if for the first time, the cracks in his armor are showing, if ever so slightly.

His lips curl into a smirk, but there’s something softer, something reluctant beneath the bravado.

“Does it make you feel powerful?” he asks, but his voice cracks, betraying the effort it takes to remain in control.

You want to say yes, more than anything, but it would feel like a lie.

So, instead, you tell yourself that this hesitation, this sudden pull back, is simply the guilt of taking advantage of his weakness. This isn't about dominance. There’s nothing satisfying about an unfair fight. Or… well, whatever this twisted dance is.

But even as the thought crosses your mind, his fingers slide up the back of your neck, possessive, pulling you back into the crook of his neck.

“Take it,” he murmurs, voice roughened now. “If it means you’re mine, I’ll bleed for you.”

He must be delirious from blood loss. You can feel it—the faint tremor in his hands, the exhaustion creeping into his voice. But what’s your excuse? Why does your chest flutter in response, why does your heart race even as your body aches with hunger?

The sharp edge of his words has dulled, the venom slipping away as the heat between you grows. There's a rawness now, something unfamiliar even to you. Something that makes you want to take from him, just as much as you want to bury your face in his neck and stay there forever.

You hesitate, but only for a breath.

And then, with a flick of your fangs, you’re sinking back in, deeper this time, drinking greedily from the source, tasting his blood like a poison you can’t resist.

His body goes still, and for a split second, you think you’ve gone too far. But then his grip tightens, his body jerking against yours, his hips snapping forward in a desperate push.

A muffles sound escapes you as you suck harder, the potent taste of him going straight down to your swollen cunt like an aphrodisiac, your combined juices dripping lewdly from where his cock fucks into you, down the curve of your ass and collecting on the table.

“You don’t stop, do you?” he breathes it out like a curse, but it’s coated with something darker than frustration—something deeper. Something that feels like acceptance. “Just takes it like its yours.”

You suck in a shaky breath as he pinches your hard nipple, sending another jolt through you down to your cunt, lips slick against the wound on his skin.

“It—It is…” you gasp as he keeps moving inside you, each thrust tighter, more deliberate, like he's forcing himself through the ache. Blood drips from his throat, warm on your tongue, and still he keeps his head tilted back like an offering. “It’s always been, hasn’t it?”

Your whole body burns, his blood already beginning to rot inside your veins and you can only cling to him harder, shaking, gasping. Sweat slicked bodies stick to each other as your tongue slithers out as you drink, laving over the swelling skin, and all that exists here and now is him, him inside you, on your tongue, in your nostrils—

He growls softly, almost tender, almost cruel. His fingers tighten in your hair and he yanks your head back, tearing your mouth from his throat.

“Look at you,” he hisses.

You glance up at him, barely. Lips slick with blood, eyes hazy with lust and shame and something unbearably tender underneath. He stares at you like he’s about to devour you whole.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice ragged with possession. “No matter how hard you fight it or how much you hate it. You are mine.”

His hips speed up again, sloppily battering against your cunt, your garbled cries swallowed when he crushes his mouth to yours, tongue prying your lips open to taste his own blood on your tongue. It’s brutal, a bloody mess, sticky crimson fluid staining his lips as well, the scent of metal combining with the musk of sex permeating the air.

Him. His.

All his.

With a garbled cry and tears on your cheeks you cum as you tangle tongues, saliva mixing as warm liquid rushes from your hole. His own movements lose their rhythm, becoming erratic before with a final twitch of his dick he cums deep inside your cunt, the sticky white fluid almost as warm as his blood. It floods you till it starts seeping out as you pant into each others’ mouths, he keeps going, making sure to fuck his cum back into your spasming pussy.

Then, silence.

You lie there, tangled in the aftermath, sweat-slicked bodies cooling against each other, your breath still brushing against his punctured throat. His hand is knotted in your hair like he’s not ready to let go—no words, just the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing.

Neither of you speaks.

The room is heavy with the scent of sweat, blood, and the feral musk of sex. A healed wound on your ribs still seeps, and his lip is split, but the damage feels irrelevant compared to what’s left unsaid.

But then he untangles himself slowly, deliberately, stepping back. His brows scrunch slightly in pain, his shoulders stiff, his gaze avoiding yours.

You frown, confused. “What—”

“Get dressed,” he says, flatly, his voice an unreadable monotone.

“What?”

He stands, fastening his pants with a lack of care, not sparing you a single glance. “I’m letting you go.”

The words land like a slap.

You sit up, the sudden shock of his statement rattling you, the words caught in your throat. “You said—”

“I changed my mind.” And just like that, he turns back toward you, leans in close. You instinctively recoil, heart thudding as his hand moves toward your throat.

“Relax,” he mutters, his gaze never leaving the exposed skin of your neck. His fingers tilt your chin upward with a quiet precision, the other hand brushing over the metal collar locked around your throat.

Your pulse quickens. “The remote—”

“There’s a trick to it,” he says, his voice almost bored, like he’s speaking to a child. “You just never bothered to learn.”

His thumb presses beneath your jaw with firm pressure—a click, and a small hiss as the lock releases. The collar falls from your neck with a metallic weight, the finality of it making the air feel impossibly thick.

The gesture is disconcertingly tender almost, but a part of you stays still for some reason, still half-naked and leaking, blood drying in flakes around your lips.

“You have until dawn.”

Something twists in your chest. “Why?”

No answer.

You study his back, the rigid line of his spine, the bruises blooming under his skin, the flicker in his jaw. There’s no fear, only confusion—and something too terrifyingly close to hurt.

He doesn’t say it but you can see it now, in the way his hands shake slightly as he buttons his shirt. In the way he won’t meet your eyes.

He wants you gone because killing you would be too easy.

Because this chase is all he has left.

So you dress slowly, defiantly, watching him the whole time, waiting for him to change his mind again.

But he doesn't.

And when you finally reach the door, you pause. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Good,” he says, finally meeting your gaze.

You nod once.

Then you’re gone, into the dark, not looking back.

The forest is damp from earlier rain, the small unpaved road muddy and glistening with small puddles under the dappled moonlight, the sound of an owl hooting somewhere nearby. Blood stains your skin, hair clinging to your damp temples, yet you don’t stop to fix it.

The empty peacefulness of the forest at night feels too big.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter—that you’re free. That he let you go and that’s all that matters.

But something gnaws at you, a restlessness curling in your stomach like hunger.

You vaguely note you’ll be feeling unwell soon with his blood in you.

You could disappear. Vanish into the cities, into the forests, into the dark corners where even he wouldn’t follow.

But you won’t.

Instead you continue on, the only thought in your mind is a silent promise to take his other eye.

Time passes.

Not in peace—no, never that.

But in violence and whispers and blood-slick headlines and cold case files that gather dust.

You move through the world like smoke—harder, leaner, hungrier. A myth haunting cities that chew people up and forget their names. Everytime, you leave your mark with surgical precision—corpses with their right eyes missing.

Not just a signature, but an invitation. And he answers—sometimes in shadows, sometimes in person.

You’ve fought him more times than you can count.

Each time, it ends the same—broken glass, broken bones, someone limping away before the killing blow can land. Sometimes it's you, sometimes it’s him.

Sometimes the line blurs.

The one constant, however, is that it never feels quite finished.

Once, you kissed him just to buy time to stab him. Another time he held your bleeding body and whispered something you refused to hear.

Neither of you ever stays down.

Among vampires, your name becomes cursed—not because you’re feared but because wherever you go, Ryomen Sukuna follows and no one survives him.

Among hunters, it’s quieter. They understand something the others don’t, that no one chases what he’s claimed.

Still, you chase him and he chases you, like wolves in circles, like hunger gnawing at itself.

Until, one day, the pattern breaks.

The next body you find isn’t a vampire, but a young hunter. Sloppy. Killed quick. And this time, it’s not the right eye that’s gone—it’s the left.

It’s the first time he’s answered with something of his own.

And somehow, that's how you know that it’s time.

You straddle his torso, blade pressing into his cheek, panting. Even his own chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm.

Both of you are smeared with grime, sweat, blood—your hair tangled, his disheveled.

It’s the dead of night, but the old train station feels like its own world, frozen in time. This place, like the two of you, feels forgotten by the rest of history.

You’ve been waiting for this day for years.

Sukuna’s face is torn up, more than a few of his ribs are broken, one of his legs is bent at an odd angle.

And yet, as broken as he is, he still watches you with that one remaining eye—unsettlingly lucid, like a window into the abyss of whatever terrible, beautiful thing lives at the core of him.

The eye you promised to take years ago. A promise handed down by blood. By centuries of hate and duty.

Your hand shakes as you raise the crimson-stained blade, your pulse pounding in your throat.

And he smiles. That maddening, blood-slick smile.

“Go on then,” he rasps. “Even score. You’ve always wanted it.”

You stare, intense with something unnamable as the blade hovers, ready to plunge in and leave him in a world of pure darkness.

This moment has been imagined, fantasized over. All the ways you’d carve it out, what you’d do with it. Once you even thought about pickling it.

But life never goes as planned, does it?

Revenge tastes sweet in theory, perhaps. Not in practice. Not now.

His eye, the last one, is fixed on you, unwavering. Like he wants to see everything—all of you—even as you hover at the edge of his death.

And in this moment, you realize you don’t want to destroy it.

Not out of mercy. Not out of weakness.

But because it’s the only part of him, maybe the only thing in the entire world, that ever really saw you.

And it’s hauntingly beautiful.

Feral. Fever-bright crimson, even as he stares down his death. Achingly human in a way neither of you were allowed to be.

“I—” your voice cracks. “I don’t want to. I want you to see me,” you whisper.

He exhales a shaky, rattling laugh, surprised. Then nods.

“Fine,” he says softly. “You’ll be the last thing I ever see.”

This day would have always come. Because however bright they may burn, humans only exist fleetingly. And one way or another, he would die long before you—the only difference would be that it wouldn’t be at your hands.

Something mundane, even. A miscalculated move, the slightest mistake.

You can’t bear to even think about him going out like that.

So it has to be you, and it has to be now. The only ending he deserves.

With trembling hands and stinging eyes you drag the blade down, touching it to his neck. Not deep, just enough for him to feel it.

And then he says your name.

The first time he’s ever said your name.

You pause.

“I’m glad it was you,” he whispers.

Something in you shatters unrepairably. Something that can never be put together no matter how many centuries you live.

Your throat tightens, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, and before you can think twice, you push the blade in. Slow and clean, but still he jerks slightly, though not with the strength he once had.

Blood spurts, spraying across your face before it begins to pour, running down his flesh like rivers of red. It smells as rich and alive as ever.

Instinctively his hands come up—you don’t know whether to stop or hold you. Either way, they falter halfway, dropping back down.

It’s too late now.

You can tell from the way he tries to breathe, but all that comes out is a wet, choking sound that might be your name as a gurgle rises in his throat, blood bubbling at his lips.

Sukuna was, perhaps, the strongest man you’ve ever known. But death humbles all things. And in the end, he’s no different—just another body reaching blindly for breath, caught in that last, trembling moment of naked, undeniable fear

The realization that this is it. That you don’t know what comes after this.

What hurts most is that moment—his lungs struggling, clawing for air that isn't there.

Then his gaze snaps to yours.

And in it, a glimpse of the impossible—a life that might’ve been yours together, if the world had given you a different story.

Like he promised, he watches you till the very end. One single bright eye that stays locked on you, even when the light fades out like a dying star. Till it goes dull and glassy, still staring at you till it isn’t.

He goes still.

And suddenly it hits you—sharp and certain, like a stake through the heart, why your venom never worked on him.

Because he was always in love with you. Or something close enough to it that the body couldn’t tell the difference.

You feel hollow. Like when he died, a part of you went out with him.

Hunger and—

Just hunger.

That’s all the rest of your existence will be now. Wandering, empty, purposeless.

Time slows and thickens, like air turned to water. Your ears are ringing, but there’s no sound. No wind, no breath, no heartbeat.

You’re not sure who you are without Sukuna.

And now you know what you have to do, something implicit in your bones that knows, that’s already pulling the blade out of his neck.

You stare at the blade in your hand, wet with his blood. Still warm.

It glints in the dim light like it wants you to follow.

You don’t cry; there’s nothing left for that.

Just silence.

Just the ache of his absence pressing down on your ribs like a weight too heavy to breathe through.

Slowly, you lower yourself beside him, curling into the warmth that’s already leaving his body. Your forehead brushes his jaw, lips pressing against the blood-slick edge of his throat like a kiss goodbye.

“Don’t wait for me,” you whisper, though you don’t know if you mean it. You hope you do.

Then you take the blade and guide it up, not hesitating now. There’s no drama or fanfare, just inevitability.

The metal bites in just beneath your sternum, and it’s almost a relief. The pain blooms sharp, then dull, then distant.

Your body slumps forward into his, cheek resting against his chest as you wonder what will happen next.

And in those final seconds, heart slowing, vision blurring, you swear you hear it—a heartbeat.

Not yours.

His.

Or maybe… just the echo of it. A phantom memory to carry you into the dark.

Days later, only Sukuna’s body is found. Next to him, a mysterious pile of ash.

Together at last.

a/n: something something something abt ending generational cycles idk lol

taglist: @mistalli @latrotoxiins @maomimii @indiewritesxoxo

[imsosoheee]

sweeter - l.sh

wc: 516 | pairing: bf!sohee x gf!reader

genre: fluff | a/n: i love sohee a lot (you guys should know this by now) and writing this made me cry HAHA anyways YAYYY ODYSSEY OUT TMR

it had been a dark and rainy day, but the atmosphere outside only made you and sohee's time together feel all the more cozy. you two had done nothing but lounge in bed together, cuddling and watching movies. when you told him you were craving a sweet treat, he led you into the kitchen with a grin.

"okay, now keep whisking it and i'll slowly add in the sugar," you giggled as you reached around your boyfriend for the measuring cups.

"i'm excited," sohee grinned widely at you when you returned to his side. you smiled back, climbing onto the counter, your eyes full of adoration as you watched him carefully whisk the cream. you watched the way his brow furrowed in concentration, how his knuckle brushed the bowl. there was something so gentle in the way he moved—something that made your chest ache in the best way.

"i don't want it to be too sweet," you said as you began pouring the sugar in small increments. his eyes flickered to yours, his gaze warm, almost like he was trying to memorize the curve of your smile. after a few tablespoons, you dipped your finger into the bowl. he looked up at you, curious. "taste it," you whispered, holding out your pinkie up to sohee's pretty lips.

he leaned in slowly, wrapping his lips around your finger. it was soft—barely a touch—and when he let go, you swore you forgot how to breathe.

"what do you think?" you asked, your voice barely above the sound of the rain.

he paused. "i think it could use some more?" he licked his lips, sounding unsure. his eyes never left yours. you hummed, dipping your finger into the bowl slower this time, keeping your gaze on his. "try it again."

he took it, this time letting his mouth linger. when he pulled back, he didn’t move far. his face hovered close to yours, breath warm on your cheek.

“it’s sweet?” you asked, your lips curling into a shy smile.

he blinked once, then twice, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

“you’re sweeter,” he whispered.

then he kissed you.

soft at first. like he was scared to push too far. your knees brushed his hip as he leaned forward. his hands found your waist, steady and warm, and you let your fingers tangle into his hoodie, pulling him closer.

you kissed until the rain became background noise, until all you could feel was him—his mouth, his breath, his heart beating against yours.

both of you were breathless when he finally pulled away, a little dazed. his lips were glossy from the spit, and swollen from the sucking. you imagined you looked the same, resting your forehead against his. his brown eyes peered into yours with nothing but love as you two caught your breath.

"it could probably use a little more sugar," he said, lips still brushing yours.

you laughed softly. “i think we’re fine without it.”

and in the softest corner of the kitchen, with the rain still falling and the whipped cream forgotten, you kissed him again.

[reeniecon]

-levels of possessiveness-

Include malleus draconia, lilia vanrouge, rook hunt, kalim al asim and Jamil Viper

‼️⚠️ : gn!Reader,I haven't proof read it yet, mentions of chapter 7 npc's names on lilias part, might be come out as yandere tendencies than possessiveness...

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- kalim al asim -

• I know some of you gonna disagree with me, BUT HEAR ME OUT OKAY

• since he was a little kid he always get what he wanted right?

• why wouldn't get this one ?

• YOU GET THE IDEA RIGHT HEHEHEHE

• hm? Oh u want to go out by urself? No way hahahah, take jamil with you~ or u want me to accompany you?

• Ooooo waitt sweety dont do the chores :(( ur hand will get hurt by that, just let the maid do it for you okayy?? Oh you felt sorry for him?? For working alone? oh dont worry baba(father) will recuit the maids tmr hhe

- jamil Viper -

• this one are not very surprising

• jamil didn't really get the chance to have something in life that really his on the first place

• so, when he finally did and someone are trying to take it away from him he get really possessive over it

• he can protect kalim all the time so... He faced by almost 0 problem trying to protect you

" Jamil.. What is that?? Can we get that? " You asked him

" I can make more healthier version of it at home, are you okay with that dear? " He speak " And uh...look, dear the cooking oil that there using, it's already black soo that mean they have been using it multiple time without changing it, I wouldn't want you to eat that not-very-healty oil I'm I?" He carefully explains to you

You can sigh to him " Okay... "

" Good, let's head back I'll make it for you" He smiled sweetly to you

- lilia vanrouge -

• lmao do I need to explain??

• he is a fae

• and already lived a long life

• he knows the pain of losing people he loved dearly mallenoa.. Malleus mother and malleus father...

• so naturally he didn't want to get hurt by that feeling again of course.

• that's why he get very possessive of you

• if you're a long lived creature you might see him be not so possessive towards you because he knows he had a lot of time to spend with you.

• BUT, if you're a human... He *sigh* yeah you know the rest

" My dearie" Lilia calls for you

" Where have youve been?? " He added

" Oh, lilia I just got back from heartslabyul actually, just meet adeuce " You explain while giggling

" Hm, why lying my dear" He glares to you, while flying closer to you

" What.. No what do you mean Lilia! " You panic a little bit because what he just say to you

"Fufu.. My lovely dear... Don't lie to me okay? I know everything going on in your life " He say gently while He stroke your hair

- malleus draconia -

• HE IS A DRAGON.

• dragon are KNOWN to be a possessive creature sooo what makes you think he is any different

• he probably lock u up somewhere if he want to lmao

• not only a normal dragon but he is a dragon with POWERS he is the crowns prince to the Briar valley soooo

• he basically can do whatever he wants lol

• good luck if you catches his eyes lmao he might never let you go until your funeral, keyword MIGHT

- idia shroud -

• aaa this wired boy

• lacking basic human interaction and affection wwww

• in my eyes he would either be

• no please don't leave me boy or don't leave me or ill kms / destroy all of it

• WOULD STALK U, he probably hack into the campus CCTV just to check what are you doing currently

• asking ortho to follow you and assist you with everything you need

• would probably sends anonymous deaths threats to any guy who are flirting with you

----------------------------------------------------------

More of my fics

An : I'm kinda ashamed by this lol, but Ill post it anw, I'll add more in the future but this is it for now 😂😂😂

[callme-holly]

Hheelloo, I love your work, your my favorite writer for The Outsiders!! I was wondering if you could write for Darry, I've had a specific scenario for him in my mind. So hear me out, y/n met Darry and the gang after defending Pony from some socs one time, maybe the socs from the beginning of the book/movie, and after y/n and Darry bond and get together. Then, one day, those same socs jump y/n, so this time, it's Darry saving y/n. Idk man, I've just been craving a big strong man to save me in the middle of a crisis, and I wish that man was Darry lol.

𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐲𝐨𝐧 [𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

halcyon: (adj.) denoting a time or feeling of idyllic happiness and tranquillity, often despite the chaos that surrounds it. a/n: i love darry sm. sorry if this is messy i was stressing so bad whilst writing it. i'll read it tmr!!

The situation was ironic really, so much so that if you weren’t currently shaking from head to toe with nerves, tears stinging at your eyes, and anxiety coursing through your veins, you’d probably laugh about it. 

It felt like only yesterday that you’d saved Ponyboy from a group of socs, stepping in and shouting at them until they scattered and ran back to their car, though not without spitting various threats your way, words you’d chalked up to be nothing more than empty bullshit. You'd forgotten about them the second the kid’s brother had come to thank you; all memories of the socs dashed as you both talked for what seemed like hours, a connection forming between the two of you, something so strong that you both started dating around a month after the event. 

The socs and their threats had never revisited your mind again, at least not until they had started following you home, leaving you in the situation you were in now. You'd never thought they’d hit a girl; it was a basic rule set among both greasers and the socs that no matter how deep their feud ran, they never dragged the girls in—or at least not the ones who didn’t need to be involved. But clearly you were wrong, and they’d left you with multiple bruises along various expenses of skin and a few little scrapes that could have been much worse if Darry hadn’t appeared. 

“Hey,” his voice is gruff, cutting through your spinning mind, but it holds a warmth to it that has you leaning into his arms. “Look at me, hon. You okay?” 

You nod, unable to find your words as you take a shuddering breath. You hadn’t protested when he’d carried you back to his, setting you gently onto the couch and fussing over you as if you were a sick, vulnerable child. 

“What happened?" His hand presses against a particularly nasty bruise along one side of your rib cage, causing you to wince as his calloused finger grazes across your tender skin. “Was it the same ones who jumped Pony?" His expression is grim, and you can see the frustration that is staring to bubble up, his eyes dark with a protectiveness you've only ever seen with his brothers. 

"Yeah," you mumble, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "They followed me home. think it's because... you know." He does know. They've been after you ever since you'd defended his brother, and while you seemed entirely oblivious to it, he'd been doing everything he could possibly think of to keep you out of it... And, of course, the one day  he wasn't able to do so, someone had hurt you. 

He lets out a heavy sigh, sitting beside you and carefully pulling you into his lap, resting you against his chest and holding you close.  The contact feels reassuringly normal, even though the anxiety is still swilring around your  core and threatening to boil over at any moment. “I've got you..."  he murmurs into your hair, his large hands stroking slowly along your back and rubbing soothing circles on your skin, a steady flow of reassurances running through him as he whispers to you softly.

Your breathing evens out somewhat, and your heart pounds harder against your ribcage as he continues to speak in low tones to you, trying to calm you down enough that you're not overwhelmed by the fear. "I should have been there, sweetheart. Im so sorry." 

You cut him off quickly, sensing the self-doubt in his voice and glancing up at him through your lashes. "Stop..." you whisper, shaking your head. "It isn't your fault, Darry. They would have done it "Stop,... I should have realised... I'm just lucky you got there when you did." 

He's silent for a few seconds, the weight of your words washing over him. You're right; it couldn've been a whole lot worse if he hadn't gotten there in time... "I guess I owed you for saving Pony."  he says eventually, smiling weakly down at you, and you can't help but return it. 

"really? I thought you did it because you loved  me. Your tone is light-hearted and teasing, and the weight in his shoulders seems to lift ever so slightly, your anxiety dispersing the tintiest.

"Well... yeah, kind of." His lips quirk upwards, and you bury your face in his chest, your chest fluttering as he presses a kiss to your hair. 

[mae-gi-writes]

Finders Keepers | Gally [TMR] - Part 2

In which Gally gets soft for one of the boys in the Glade, only…is it a boy? alternatively; In which Mai disguises herself into a boy to fit in the Glade, only to be suspected by the keen eyes of the Builder's Keeper.

Taglist: @edynmeyer1 @ss28

Also available on Wattpad.

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The first time Gally's knowledge about the new Greenie gets challenged, is a few weeks after his first arrival.

Truth to be told, the Builder was surprised at the new boy's tiny stature when he first emerged from the Box. His limbs were frail and looked sickly, his face so tiny, tinier than Newt's, and he was about five feet four, barely reaching above Gally's chest. Needless to say that he was less than impressive. Physically anyway.

He attributed it to thinking that maybe Mai was young, and so brushed it off as part pf the Creator's plan, no matter how twisted and sick they got.

But the first time Gally gets suspicious, is one very specific night.

It's been a few days since his last conversation with the Greenie during dinner and it seems that he's made himself quite comfortable with Frypan in the kitchen. It's currently evening and everyone's slowly falling into bed after a hard day's work. Gally has been speaking quietly to one of his Builders, only to realize that he hasn't showered yet.

"I'll be back." He says, grabbing a fresh pair of clothes from his hut, a towel slinging over his shoulder, before he walks in the direction of the showers.

The stalls are further away in a more hidden part of the forest, far enough that it gives you some semblance of privacy for those who don't feel comfortable bathing in the open. Gally doesn't really mind, it's just a shower after all, and they're all boys.

He walks through a few of the scattered branches along the paved off trail they'd created, before his ears pick up on the sound of running water.

Probably a lone soul, he thinks, before pushing open the wooden door.

"Oh shuck!"

No sooner has he stepped in that a towel is suddenly flung in his face. Gally yells out in shock, stumbling back in surprise as his hands try to find purchase onto the wooden walls of the half-built stall. He's so busy trying to get it off him that he barely register's a voice screaming:

"Don't look!"

"Wh—"

"I said don't look!"

"Okay okay fine!" He yells back, holds out his hands in a semblance of mercy, "I won't look."

Silence. And then, the voice speaks again with hesitation, "you—you promise."

"Yeah," Gally pauses, "yeah I promise."

Why is he even promising such things?! This is ridiculous! Gally has every right to rip this towel off him and yell bloody murder about how rude this is— but something in that person's voice has him hesitating. There's fear and something else, something he can't quite put his finger on.

So he waits, as promised.

And after a few minutes — or what feels like eternity, the voice re-emerges, "alright. I'm done."

Slowly, so as not to scare off the boy, Gally reaches up to pull off the towel from his face.

"Mai?"

His eyebrows rise in surprise, but the said boy seems to be intent on averting his eyes. His hair, freshly washed, falls into his face and for a minute he looks so lost that pity swells in the Builder's chest.

But then, logic breaks through and prompts him to ask, "what are you doing, you slinthead?"

"I--I'm sorry I panicked."

"You panicked? For what?" Gally rolls his eyes but the flush taking over Mai's face is enough to cause him to soften a little. He proceeds to dump his own towel and change of clothes onto the latter's shoulders, "right. Since you're here, might as well prove yourself useful."

"Wha--" Mai stutters out, red in the face, and Gally lets out a sigh of exasperation. He pushes the younger boy out of the shower stall, "stop being such a wuss, Greenie." before slamming the door in Mai's face. -----

For a minute, Mai stands frozen. Not sure what to do.

Here she is, holding Gally's -- yes, Gally -- clothes and towel as if they're casual friends, as if they're more than passing acquaintances. She's not sure what to do with them, not certain whether she should be chucking them over the stall and making a run for it. That idea sounds tempting, but Mai's too much of a coward to face Gally's wrath afterwards.

So she decides to stay, biting her lip upon hearing the faucet twist and Gally's tired sigh. He sounds like he needs that shower, and yet why can't she stop picturing his broad shoulders without his shirt? Is is chest as defined as it looks? He's so tall, Mai wonders whether he gets it from his dad or his mom. And his arms...

Stop it! She snaps herself out of her daze, what is wrong with you?

Her cheeks are burning when she reaches up to touch them, and Mai quickly tries to think of something else to calm down her heart that's suddenly beating like a hummingbird in her chest.

It's not like she's blind either. Gally is attractive, mainly because he's so huge and tall and everything that girls would want in a guy. So can anyone really blame her?

She's so caught up in her own thoughts that she doesn't hear Gally until he shouts out her name two or three more times.

"--Mai! Don't tell me you ran away you shank!"

"Oh--uh--I'm here!" Mai fumbles with the towel, wondering whether she'll be able to chuck it at him. But the shower door swings open a fraction, enough for Gally's hand to pass through.

She swallows, watching as his bare hand grabs onto the towel and disappears behind the wall. Next come his clothes, and she almost sighs in relief when the Builder finally steps out fully clothed, hair damp, and skin glowing red from the shower warmth.

Gally's swiping the towel through his hair upon noticing her staring at him, "what?" he asks gruffly, voice echoing in a lower baritone that has Mai's spine in shivers.

She whips her head away, "nothing."

"You got a problem with naked guys or what?" he can't help but ask, side-eyeing her in the process.

"I--No! It's just--I--" Mai stumbles through words as she tries to rack her brain for a coherent response. Biting her lip, she finally mumbles out, "I'm not used to it, is all."

Gally hums, "Never heard of that one before. You like guys?"

The question comes so out of the blue that it takes the girl a few seconds to realize what he's asking of her. What he thinks she is.

And before she can think twice, she blurts out, "yes."

Gally's eyes widen. He looks at her for a minute as he digests the information. Mai looks back at him, cheeks blazing with red despite realizing that he might bully her for this kind of confession.

Maybe that's why she's quick to add, "don't tell anyone." she pauses, hesitates, "please."

There's a small pause, before Gally dips his head into a nod. Mai lets out a breath of relief. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to be the type of person that gives out useless gossip, nor does he seem like he'd blabber to any of his close friends. Bullying her though, that might be on his list of must-do's now that he's aware of her supposed sexual preference.

They're nearing the Glade now and Mai's readying herself to come up with an excuse when the Builder beats her to it.

"I want extra eggs."

Mai almost stumbles and catches herself. She blinks up at him, "you want—"

"Extra eggs in the morning. You heard me," Gally's eyes are intense on hers and he folds his arms, "or I can spill your dirty little secret—"

"It's not dirty!"

"Should I then?" Challenge glistens in his eyes, amusement dangling from his lips.

"No— ugh— fine. I'll give you extra eggs." Mai's shoulders slump. She just hopes no one will take notice of this sudden preference.

"And extra curry at lunchtime and dinner."

She throws him a glare, "that's too much."

"Then I guess I'll spread the word first thing tomorrow--"

"Okay fine fine! Yes, you'll get extra curry. Just--don't tell anyone." Mai feels like begging might prove useful at this point, the way Gally stands there looking satisfied of how much of a wreck she's being because of him, "please, Gally."

He holds out his hand, grinning, "it's a deal, Greenie." 

"My name is Mai," she mutters while gripping his hand. She can't help but notice how it engulfs hers entirely. Jesus, this guy's a monster.

"Good that," he's already turning to go back to his hut but then stops in mid-action, an amused smile thrown over his shoulder, "goodnight Greenie. And stop staring, you look like you might drool."

"Oh shut up Gally!" 

But the boy is already gone and walking away by then, his laughter echoing through the air. Mai rolls her eyes, grumbling under her breath as she makes it back to her own hammock squeezed in-between one too many. 

Great. She's definitely not looking forward to tomorrow.

[the-fiction-witch]

Little Girl

Media TMR

Character Newt

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating Smut!

Semi-NonConsentual / Breast play / Nipple play / fingering / eating out / raw sex / jizz / creampie / riding /

I sat pouting. Surrounded by stone in one of the slammer cells. My wrists tied together with harsh rope. The boys had thrown me in here for three nights with no food given what I did. But he deserved it, the little perv! But they didn't listen to my side. All Alby needed to know was I harmed another glader and thus I'm locked in here. I saw light approaching the glimmering spark of gold and red flame getting closer it was long since dinner so most boys would be in bed I didn't want to look expecting another lecture from Alby but no.

"Hi love" 

My neck snapped fast towards the wooden cage door where he now sat the lantern beside him. His little brown shoes in the dirt, a wrap around his bad ankle, his brown tattered trousers, his orange vest just poking over his once white hoodie, his bandage around his arm and his messy blonde hair, he leant on the wooden cage and smiled down at me 

"What the shucking hell do you want!"

"Just popped by to check your comfy little girl"

"Don't call me that!"

"Why not? You're a girl? And you ever so cute and wh-ittle" 

"What do you want newt?"

"Well… perhaps seeking an apology?"

"An apology!"

"Yes"

"You've got more of a chance of marrying a griever than getting an apology out of me for what you did!"

"Awww come on. I was only playing"

"You hid in the showers! Your lucky you only for off with a few bruises before the boys found us. They left me any longer I'd have broke your nose" 

"I was meerly checking the shower was safe for a little girl"

"Liar you little perv!"

"Fine maybe I was in there but that's no excuse for you to hit me like that"

"What do you want? Because you can shove your apology up your blonde British butt" 

"Fine" he smirked as he began untieing and opening the door jumping down to be inside with me and shutting the door again "hi little girl"

"What do you think your doing"

"Well… when a little girl is locked up in the slammer with her denying hands tied up, you can't blame me for not wanting to waste… such an opportunity" he smirked 

"Oh no you -" I began trying to move but he grabbed me wrapping his arms around me sitting me on his lap with his chest against my back

"Ah ah ah little girl. Let's just stay here a little while just you and me" he smirked 

"You so anything I'll scream so loud all the boys will here"

"No you won't. Because if you do I'll tell them I came to tell you how I forgave you and you flipped out and attacked me. Your on thin ice as it is Alby will banish you for that"

"You evil little bastard"

"Humm if that's what you wanna call me love" he smirked his hands quickly finding my breasts 

"Ughh! Newt stop!"

"Why should I? Ummm trust me you felt these you wouldn't wanna stop either" he growled in my ear as he fondled and squeezed my breasts often holding them to feel the weight of them in his hands, making sure he squeezed tight. He ignored my squirms and whines shifting me back to sit so his erection sat against my ass

"You're a disgusting little perv newt!"

"I know, but how am I meant to help myself?" He smirked purposely pinching my nipples and tugging on them to force them to harden and as soon as they did he grabbed my breasts in his hands and rubbed in my nipples with his thumbs he chuckled evily "what a cute little girl you are? When your pouting like you don't like it"

"Newt let me go!"

"Maybe I would if you tell me you don't like it, sitting here above my cock grinding on me, while I play with these sexy tits." He smirked and I staid silent "I didn't think you could you dirty little girl" he smirked twisting my nipples a little

"AHH that hurts!"

"Yeah? Well I've had to walk around the glade with a hard on since you got here. Don't you think that hurts love?" He smirked starting to slightly hump against my ass and his hands moved to the hem of my shirt forcing it off me 

"Newt!"

"Awww it's okay, no need to be shy, nothing I haven't seen before." He smirked "but… bloody hell you look good with your top off" He smirked grabbing them much harder

"What the hell do you mean!"

"Well… let's just say this wasn't the first time I've snuck in your shower" he whispered

"You perv!"

"Can you blame me ? How is anyone meant to resist you little girl?"

"Everyone else does!"

"You really think that? You should hear the boys when you go walking around in shorts. Humm were all like lions in heat around you" 

"Let me go"

"No way love" he smirked moving a hand down to undo my shorts and forcing his fingers inside rubbing under my panties "awww I can feel how wet you are little girl" 

"Slim it!"

"Ohh yeah, you dirty little thing" he growled groping my breast hard and rubbing on my clit clearly trying to move his fingers lower but I clamped my legs shut "awww no no. Let's keep this nice and wide for me little girl" he smirked forcing my legs apart 

"Let me go!"

"Now where is… AHH there you are. Let's see how bad my little girl is craving me really" he growled as his fingers found my entrance and as much as I tried to resist he pushed two fingers are first just inside then pushing as deep inside as he could flicking his fingers as he did making me squeal but he clamped a hand over my mouth "ohh shuck you're dripping down my hand y/n. This is gonna be fun" he smirked biting his lip as his hand held me tightly and his fingers worked mercilessly finger fucking me fast and hard letting my wetness drip down my legs he held my mouth so I couldn't scream even If is hand left sometimes to fondle my breasts as he worked clearly very much enjoying himself until he pulled his hand away and licked his fingers clean "ummmm you taste good little girl. I want more" he growled pushing me off his lap and into the dirt on my stomach he wasted no time slapping my ass hard "ughhh oohh yeah. You bad bad girl" he growled forcing my shorts down slapping me a good few times "you have no clue how much I wanna do this every time this teasing little ass walks past in the gardens." He smirked pulling my panties to the side "awww what a cute little pussy for a cute little girl" he smirked and he then began spanking me hard digging his nails in and spreading my cheeks as much as he could and I felt my wetness drip out of me "ohhh bloody hell- my dirty little girly" he growled before he began kissing and licking my exposed pussy moaning too himself as he did I did my best not to scream but at the same time I was so worried if someone found us like this when he pulled back he smirked and pushed me onto my back and forced my legs as wide as possible "ummmmm you are beautiful" he growled licking his lips before holding my thighs tightly and returning to his passionate licking and now sucking even at times using his tounge to replace his fingers all while I squirmed and tried to hide the pleasure of it his hand moved up grabbing my breast fondling and rubbing on my nipple as he locked and sucked 

"Newt stop please-"

"Awww why? My little girl gonna cum for me? Make sure you tell me I wanna watch you twitch and squeal when you cum for me" he demanded 

"Stop please!"

"Maybe I'll stop once I see my life girl naked" he demanded ripping my bra off and my panties I did my best with my tied hands to hide myself but that only seemed to amuse him more "let me see little girl." He smirked forcing my hands above my head "bloody hell… uhhhh shuck- just look at that body. I should walk you around the glade naked so every boy can get a look just how good you are"

"No please-"

"Aww that's okay, it can be our little secret. My little girls bodies all mine" he growled fondling, pinching, slapping, groping anything he could get his hands on which was unfortunately everything even tickling me to make me squirm more for him all with his evil low laugh "what a fun little toy you are little girl. But I've had enough toying" he growled moving bayabs undoing his pants pushing them down enough to reveal his erection "come on."

"No!"

"Your gonna ride me. Or I'm forcing you in your stomach make your mind up"

I pouted but went over sitting on his lap letting him stroke my ass as I sat there 

"Awww what a good little girl your being for me. Maybe all this time all you needed wa a good fuck" he smirked pulling my cheeks apart before he found his way inside me "uuuuuuuhhh! So tight! Ohh yeah! You are a tight little fuck aren't ya? Don't worry I'll loosen you up little girl" he smirked holding my hips to make me bounce on him admittedly it was amazing but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of my pleasure as he was he smirked staring at my breasts as I bounced "you know if you ever want out of some garden work? I'm more then happy to strike up a deal little girl."

*What sort of deal?"

"how about you get to blow off weeding if you blow me. Or I'll let you have an extra break for a few slaps on that sexy ass. Hummm I'll even let you get off work early so long as my little girl comes and bounces on my cock in the garden shed" be smirked 

"Not on your life"

"No? Why are you still bouncing then little girl?" He smirked and I noticed he has adopted guiding me completely his hands just in my ass 

"You pervy bastard"

"I know, so? Im not far off you want me to bury it? Glaze your tummy? Or you wanna get on your knees and let me fill your mouth up?" 

"Just a little longer"

"Yeah? How about I just bury it in your pretty pussy and let my baby ride on me as much she needs Hu?" He smirked 😘 my neck and jaw I nodded and he only smirked more "yeah? That what my little girl wants? Humm If you cum on my cock I'll know how bad you want me. And I'll never leave this sexy body alone again" he smirked slapping my ass

"You started this!"

"Yeah and if you want to cum you have to admit you love it."

"And if I do?"

"Then your mine little girl. And I'm gonna fucking destroy you every time that little ass makes me horny" he smirked thrusting up hard 

"Uhhh fine!"

"Yeah?"

"Fine newt!"

"Yes! Ughh fuck come here!" He growled holding me tight as he pushed me onto my back and loomed over me never pulling out as he did proceeding to pound my pussy mercilessly pulling my lips to his to muffle our lustful moans until I suddenly hit my wall digging my nails into his arms as my eyes rolled back and I squirted down his cock "uuhhhh fuck little girl. Uhhh my tight little pouty girly just came down my fucking cock uuuuuuuhhh- I need you so bad- I'm so close - just a little - uuughhhh!" He groans burring himself as deep as possible and collapsing on me 

"You are a perv newt" I gasped

"I know" he gasped back he slowly pushed himself up and pulled out cleaning himself off on his hoodie "ummmm you look so good like that"

"Like what?" I asked as I hadn't moved

"Laid on your back. Completely naked. Legs open. Tits bouncing. Honey glow across your skin. Dripping my jizz out your pussy" he smirked "umm my little girl." He smirked stroking from my lips to my pussy "give me five minutes and I'll finish in your ass this time" 

"That a promise?" I asked climbing into his lap wrapping my arms around his neck 

"You bet that cute little ass I am" he smirked slapping my ass and pulling me into an intense make out. "Uhhh- I don't need five minutes" he growled as he pulled away and forced me back down on my stomach 

[sictkrs]

Nervous (pt. 1?)

⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡⋆𐙚 ₊

MNDNI!! 18+

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: no smut but constant references to eventual smut, neck kissing, praise, honestly both reader and Steve are both switches with how I wrote this, dry humping, (slight) dirty talk, partial nudity, INSANELY long for no reason like it's just build up, not proof read

Boyfriend!Steve taking readers virginity! She is very nervous but also not because she's trying to be more confident!

I haven't written in like forever so here you go tumblr if you want the part two let me know because it is currently one in the morning and I will finish it tmr!!

Smut under the cut!

“Are you worried?” he murmurs, hazel eyes flicking up to look at you. 

For a moment you want to say no, you'd like to lie and tell Steve that you're just as confident as he is, but it seems that the moment you open your mouth the words fall short. 

“it's okay, I—I mean we don't have to, y'know, if you don't want to.” His thumb runs over the top button of your blouse, the smooth round stud so close to unlatching. 

“I want to,” your words are barely a whisper. His hands drop from your collar and settle on your side.

He doesn't seem to believe you. Here you both were lying in your bed, parents gone away for the night. It's perfect, he'd been sweet and caring, he brought flowers and chocolate. Still, you're tense, and he can tell. He leans back into the bed beside you, head resting on the stomach of a comically sized bear he had won you. You sigh, leaning towards him, he quirks a brow.

“I want to,” you repeat, this time your tone more confident. Or at least as confident as you can be with him around. “I'd like to, Steve, I do, I just… I'm nervous.” 

His lips quirk up a little, eyes trailing down your face as you look at him. If Steve was honest he really, really wanted you. God knows how many times he'd have to come up with some stupid excuse to go and jack off in the bathroom just because he kissed you. His teeth graze his bottom lip before he speaks again, that familiar playful look on his face.

“Show me.”

Your brows pull together, lips parting at his words. 

“How do I—How should I—” you start. His hand travels from your side, sliding down the slope of it to instead find home on your hip, thumb brushing over the fabric of your jeans.

“Just do whatever you want,” He tells you, eyes focused and staring into yours with so much intensity that it jarrs you.

“what if I do something you don't like?” You inch closer, leg brushing his. 

“I'll tell you.” His eyes flick to your lips. “But trust me, honey. I'd like everything as long as it's you.”

His words are so sickly sweet that you're sure you must have gotten a cavity. Steve was always good with words, smooth and sultry, everything you didn't know how exactly to be. 

Your tongue slides over your bottom lip, wetting it slightly before swallowing. When you move closer to him, you can hear his breath the way it slips out of him so quickly when your hands settle on his chest for support, the red wool of his sweater warm under your palms.

“You're doing just fine, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes following your every move as you progress closer.

It's not like you haven't touched him before, that you haven't made out in bathrooms or behind the bleachers at graduation, but this was different. This seemed to have more meaning because of what would come after. His left hand moves to your face, thumb swiping over the apple of your cheek. 

“Just focus on right now.”

It's as if he could read your mind, and you wondered if maybe you could read his too. You lean up, lips placing a soft peck on the corner of his lips, bubble gum lip gloss bound to leave a light shiny stain.

He starts to smile again, Steve liked kissing you. You knew that, it seemed to be one of his favourite things, along with the way you stammered or always seemed to get so jittery when you got too close, like you couldn't even handle the slightest touch. You'd like to prove that last one wrong, show him that you could handle him. 

His lips start to lean up, expecting to kiss you back like he always would, but you shift, left hand coming up and moving his face to the side, giving access to his neck. He does it again, the breath sound, this time it seemed rushed, surprised as it falls from his lips. His hand flexes on your hip, as if he's trying not to squeeze you too tight at the feeling of you mouthing and nipping at his skin. 

“There you go… that's it,” he breathes out, head tipping back. He seemed to be just as sensitive to your touch as you were to his.

“Unbutton my shirt,” you speak against his skin, breath warm and heated against the flesh of his neck. He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing.

His hands slide from their place and find the buttons again. He does it quick too, each button popping out so fast that you realise the last time he had almost taken your shirt off he must have been holding back.

You move closer, legs sliding between his as you plant yourself on one of them. You knew if you sat you'd feel him, you could imagine it. The pressure and the rubbing and everything that goes with that. 

You let go of his face once you feel his hand slide into your shirt, palm warm against your shoulder as you pull your lips (reluctantly) off his neck. 

He looks at you, eyes tracing the crevice of your collar bone all the way down to your chest, he could imagine running his tongue along the gaps, sliding and wetting it all down till he reached your core. Steve legs tense as you sit back, shifting on his lap so his thigh is resting under your sex and your own thigh nudging against the crotch of his jeans. 

“Fuck,” he utters, lips parted as he takes in the sight, the feeling. Your own hands slide off the button up as it pools around you, your pretty little bra on display for him. 

“Is this fine?” You ask, suddenly the previous display of confidence disintegrating as you take off a garment. He laughs, hazel eyes looking into yours.

“You kiddin’?” His hands smooth over your sides again, taking in the feeling of bear skin. “might bust in my jeans with the way you're lookin’”

“Steve!” Your cheeks flare.

“Sorry, honey, just—wow.”

You can't help the way your lips quirk into a smile that matches his, leaning forward. A moan falls from his lips but the sweet sound is quickly consumed when your lips fall on his. He kisses you enthusiastically, pads of his fingers seemingly less afraid to press into your skin. Or maybe he just wants to leave marks, as if they’ll remind both you and him of this night. 

“Take it off,” you breathe, words slipping from your mouth into his as you speak in between kisses. 

“I trust you.” You kiss him again. The feeling of his hands trailing over your skin to your back isn't something that's lost on you, In fact you'd rather it occur more after this. 

“You sure?” He pulls away.

His hands find the clasp, unlatching it and helping to pull the garment off of you. Your hands find his face, settling on the sides of his jaw, thumbs resting on his cheek bone as you kiss him. Steve can't help but peek, one eye opening to just see the site of your bear breasts.

“Oh my god.” 

The words are swallowed by your mouth on his. Hands slide hesitantly, but when you lean in, all notion of hesitance stops. His thumb runs over your nipple, feeling the soft supple skin harden at his touch, he moans into your mouth and the sound spurs you on. Your hips move without thinking, sliding over his thigh, your layers of fabric stopping some sensation but not all. You gasp, he pulls away.

“Was that good?” He asks, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you, hands still grabbing and touching your bear chest. 

“Ah—oh,” his head tips back and this time you watch him. You get to view the gorgeous sight of Steve Harrington tip his head back, and silently swear under his breath. His eyes shut, mouth agape as he reacts to even the barest of touches. His lips are shiny from your lip gloss, pink and swollen slightly when his teeth sink into his bottom lip.

You nod, head falling forward slightly as you repeat the action, denim jeans and cotton panties soaking up any slick your needy hole might be leaking. Your hands shift down and plant on his chest, balling up the wool of his sweater. You needed to hold onto him. You do it again and Steve watches, he wants so desperately to see the way your brows pinch together and your mouth part to inhale sharply. Your thigh kicks up, nudging him, he jolts. 

“I—I want, I want your shirt off.” 

He takes a moment, still recovering from the little sensation that still seemed to set his body aflame, then his hands drop from your chest, curling around the ends of his sweater and when you let go of it, pulling it off his body, hair falling back a little more messy at the action. 

Your hands smooth over his chest, traces of regrowing hair flatten under your palms. You would make a note of asking him not to shave it anymore. Your view shifts to his face, Bambi eyes and parted lips meet you, you lean in. 

It's like instinct, the way your lips glide against his when you kiss. Tongues dart in and you can hear the sound of your own saliva mixing with his, you would have found it rather gross if you didn't like him so much.

You pull away, a line of spit connects the both of you. 

“Jeans.. I..,” you trail off.

“Yeah?” He doesn't finish the sentence for you, instead just urging you to instead. He wants to hear you say it, he wants you to tell him what to do again.

“I want them off,” you finally admit, swallowing after. 

Steve is hesitant at first, not because he doesn't want to, no, he wants to, the growing situation in his jeans definitely wants to. He's just not sure if you're ready yet, he swipes his thumb over your hip bone. 

“.. like?” 

“Can I… can I try somethin’ honey?” he asks, voice soft like the hum of a radio.

“I just want to make sure you're ready.”

“I told you I'm ready, Steve. I—I showed you, didn't I?” you say, brows pulling together in confusion. He cracks a smile.

“Not that kind of ready, I mean…” his tongue wets his bottom lip. “Wanna stretch you out a little before we really go all in, wanna make sure it doesn't hurt too much.”

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